


Drive for a while by my side

by riventhorn



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy and Max moved to Ohio not Hawkins, Billy doesn't meet Steve until after high school, Billy is bad with emotions, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Billy Hargrove, Homophobia, Hurt Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Pet Names, Prostitution, Road Trips, Sex Work, Steve is in a bad place, anger management issues, so many pet names, some extremely dubious consent and rough sex at the beginning but not between Billy and Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: Billy is finally on his way back to California, dreaming of the ocean and the sweet, sun-kissed boy he'll meet there. But then he runs into a down-on-his luck Steve in Indiana and makes the impulsive decision to invite him along for the trip.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 59
Kudos: 282





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the tags: This fic begins with Steve making money as a sex worker, not by choice, but because he feels he has no other options, so any sexual encounter he has can be read as dubious consent, including his initial interactions with Billy. This chapter also contains a scene with extremely dubious consent, rough sex between Steve and another man.

Billy leaned against the bar, tilting his hip just a little bit more so his leather vest swung open, showing off his abs. He took a drag on his cigarette, glanced around—yeah, he was one-hundred percent the hottest shit in this place. 

The regulars had been ogling him since he walked in the door, acting like they all wanted a piece of his tight ass. Well, they could look all they wanted, but they sure as hell weren’t getting any. Bunch of washed-up old farmers and grizzly truckers, some nerdy guy with glasses—fuck, none of them looked under forty. Guess that’s what you got in Indiana, even in a big city like Indianapolis. But he didn’t care—it’s not like he’d _wanted_ to hook up with someone tonight, not especially.

No, Billy was here mostly as a giant fuck-you to his old man. He’d left Ohio that morning, leaving behind that hick town, leaving behind his father’s house and his father’s fists. He was going back to California, and he was goddamn sure going to enjoy the trip. No one here knew who he was, and he’d be gone tomorrow. There was no danger that word would get back to Neil about his faggot son styling his hair and putting on cologne and going to a gay bar. 

And yeah, maybe his fingers shook as he stood in the cramped motel bathroom and sprayed his hair. Maybe his heart pounded in his ears, and he’d had to sit in the Camaro a solid ten minutes before getting out and walking into the bar. What the fuck did that matter? He’d done it hadn’t he? Strolled in like he owned the place.

Billy slammed back another shot, the whisky rolling through him, easing the tightness in his shoulders. 

“Take it easy, kid,” the guy sitting on a stool next to him said. “We’ll be peeling you off the floor, you keep goin’ like that.”

“Fuck you,” Billy snarled. What was it with washed-up old dudes feeling like they could tell him what to do? Christ. 

Still. He didn’t want to drive into a telephone pole on his way back to the motel. So he got a beer and wandered over to an unoccupied booth, stretching out his legs and lighting another cigarette. He tallied up his tab in his head and scowled. Better not hit another bar for a while after this. Because sure, he was going to enjoy himself on this trip, but he also had plans. He hadn’t spent the year and a half since he graduated high school working shitty minimum wage jobs, saving as much as he could, and putting up with living with his dad to blow it all on booze. 

Anyway, this bar really did suck. All that time he’d spent on his hair had been pretty much wasted. When he was driving past endless cornfields, gunning it over the state line, he’d been thinking about the possibility of running into a guy tonight. Someone his age with pretty eyes who’d let Billy buy him a drink, who’d smile at him like Billy was the best thing he’d seen in a while. Someone who’d gasp when Billy licked into his mouth. Someone who, if he realized Billy was… well, _inexperienced_ when it came to doing stuff with another guy, wouldn’t tease him for it. Would just be all gentle and sweet. 

When he got to California. He’d find him then. On a beach somewhere, all tan and gorgeous. 

He was finishing his beer when he heard the door open, letting in the rush of traffic outside. A few seconds later, the newcomer wandered past where Billy was sitting. He didn’t notice Billy, was focused on the bar, but Billy noticed him. 

Jesus—it was like an answer to his prayer. Tight, acid-washed jeans that clung to a nice ass, although the guy looked skinny, his denim jacket hanging loosely on his shoulders. Dark hair, sprayed and teased into a wavy style above his forehead. When the guy slid onto a stool at the bar, Billy got a look at his profile, caught a glimpse of a straight nose and a cute, kissable mouth. Such a pretty boy. He realized the guy was wearing neon pink high tops and snorted back a laugh. 

Billy’s heart started beating a little faster, and he shook out his shoulders. He knew what lines worked on girls, but he’d never tried them on a guy before. But come on—Billy was the best looking guy here tonight, it didn’t matter what he _said_. 

Before he could stand up, though, an older man walked up to the bar. He leaned down next to Pretty Boy and said something quiet. Pretty Boy glanced at him, nodded, and jerked his head toward the restroom. The man headed that way, and a minute later, Pretty Boy followed him. 

Billy swallowed. He drained his beer and spun the bottle on the table before catching it up in his hand. Guess he’d take a piss before he drove back to the motel.

He opened the restroom door slowly and stepped inside, grimacing when the sticky tiles clung to the soles of his shoes. One of the stall doors was shut, and Billy eased into the stall next to it, holding his breath.

Low grunts, a slick, wet sound. Billy bit his lip and squeezed himself through his pants. 

“Take it, slut. Come on.” The voice was strained, but there was a dark current to it. 

Then—a slap. Billy knew what it was, felt the ghostly echo on his skin. He froze.

“Think I’m gonna pay you for a shit job? Huh?” Another slap. “Mike said you blew him pretty good the other night, but he must have been wasted.”

Coughing, someone trying to catch their breath. Scuffling sounds and suddenly a body slammed against the stall divider. Billy startled backwards and pressed himself into the opposite corner. 

“Hold still you little shit. Fuck your goddamn throat myself. Fuck.” The man’s voice trailed off into a groan. 

Gagging, more coughing, and then the plastic snap of a condom, the sound of a zipper. The stall door banged open, and footsteps squeaked over the tile. Billy moved forward, angling his head so he could see out the crack in the door by the hinges. The man was washing his hands at the sink.

Then Pretty Boy stumbled out. Billy caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror—eyes bright with furious tears, his reddened cheek, his hair a fucking mess, like the man had gripped it to hold him still. 

“Ten bucks,” Pretty Boy said, his voice rough. 

The man ignored him.

“I said that’s ten bucks.” Pretty Boy raised his voice, and Billy’s heart leapt into his throat when he reached out to grab the man’s shoulder. Jesus—didn’t he know what was going to happen? 

Sure enough, the man whirled around and twisted his fingers in Pretty Boy’s t-shirt. They moved out of Billy’s line of sight, but he could hear the impact when the man shoved Pretty Boy into the wall. 

“I ain’t paying shit—not to a whore who can’t do the fucking job.”

“You asshole, I—” His voice cut off into a wheeze, and Billy squeezed his hands into fists, couldn’t breathe either. 

It only lasted a few seconds, though, and then the man was leaving, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

Billy stayed where he was, listened to the sink running again, to the sound of shaky breaths, and finally unsteady footsteps, the door, the din from the bar, and then silence. Another few beats, and then he unlatched the stall. He went to the sink and looked in the mirror, buttoned up his vest. Bet it would be a boring drive tomorrow—Kansas, fuck, more cows and cornfields. Time to go to the motel, get some sleep. 

He’d parked the Camaro two blocks away. Halfway there, and he saw a slumped figure sitting on the curb. He recognized the hair right away. He came to a halt. 

“Should have punched that asshole back there,” he said, and Pretty Boy flinched and looked up at him. He was all dark eyes and pale skin in the dim glow cast by a streetlight a few yards away, but Billy could see the humiliated flush that spread over his cheeks.

“Fuck off, man,” he bit out and hunched into his denim jacket, shivering. The October night was still pretty mild, but it got dark sooner now, the heat leaching from the pavement. 

Billy didn’t fuck off, pulled out his cigarettes instead. Offered them. 

Pretty Boy scowled, but he took one and held it out for Billy to light. They smoked in silence for a minute. 

“I’m passing through town,” Billy said at last. “Staying at a motel nearby. Ain’t five star or anything, but there’s a hot shower.” He paused. “A bed.”

Pretty Boy shivered again. He took a last drag, and then flicked away the butt and stood. “Okay,” he said, and he leaned into Billy’s space, just a little. Didn’t move or say nothing when Billy ran a thumb over his bottom lip, just breathed and let his mouth fall open slightly. 

“Follow me,” Billy said. 

*

Pretty Boy’s name was “Steve.” No last name offered, and Billy didn’t ask for one. He turned on the radio for the drive to the motel, and when they parked, he leaned over to open the glove compartment, letting one hand slide along Steve’s thigh. Steve sucked in a breath and spread his legs a little wider. 

Billy snagged the package of condoms, gave Steve’s thigh a squeeze, and then offered him a smile as he straightened. Not a particularly nice smile. A hungry one. 

Steve trailed after him as Billy walked over to his room. The TV was on in the room next door, and they could hear the laugh track playing on a sitcom as Billy jiggled the key in the lock. He flicked on the light as he opened the door, tossed the keys onto a table, and then stripped off his vest.

Steve had shut the door, but he was leaning against it, watching Billy. His eyes flicked over Billy’s chest, down to the crotch of his pants, back up to meet his eyes. 

“Ten bucks,” Steve said. “And you let me use the shower and sleep here.”

Billy raised his eyebrows. “From what I heard back at that bar, you’re not worth that much.”

Steve flushed red again. “You don’t want it, you shouldn’t have brought me here,” he snapped.

Billy laughed. “Simmer down, baby. I was just teasing. But I’m thinking you are kind of overdressed for the occasion.”

Slowly, Steve shucked off his jacket. He was wearing a faded black t-shirt underneath, tucked into his tight jeans. He shuffled a step forward, enough so that he could reach out and drape the jacket over the nearest chair without moving too far from the door. Then he held out his hand.  
“You pay me now.”

Billy reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He took out two fives and then sauntered closer to Steve, who took a step backward, pressing against the door again. His breathing sped up, but he didn’t try to get away when Billy boxed him in with his body. This close, he could smell sweat and the sweet, chemical scent of Steve’s hair products. Steve had brown eyes, two moles on his cheek, and a perfect Cupid’s bow of a mouth. Billy held up the money. “Look at you—asking for it first. Is this what they call ‘learning on the job’?”

It earned him a shove to the chest, and he laughed again, but let Steve snatch the money. 

Steve stuffed the bills in his pocket, sliding down the door a little, like he wanted to escape Billy’s arms on either side of him. His fingers had been shaking, and he was still breathing in quick, shallow pants. “Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole?” 

Billy narrowed his eyes. He reached out and put a hand on Steve’s sternum, spread his fingers, caught the edge of Steve’s nipple with his thumb. This was it. Billy was going to have his dick sucked—not by another teenage girl with bright pink lipstick, but a boy with a lean body and a hint of stubble on his jaw line. Maybe… maybe he’d even fuck Steve, find out what it felt like to get a boy all slippery with lube, slide his cock in nice and easy. He trailed his hand lower, flicked the button on Steve’s jeans. 

Steve swallowed and turned his head to the side, shutting his eyes. 

With a sudden pang, Billy remembered his earlier musings, when he was sitting in the booth at the bar. Dreaming about finding a sweet guy, of gentleness and smiles. And he’d thought, when Steve first walked in, he’d thought…. And now here they were, and Steve looked like he was trying not to cry.

Anger boiled. “Fuck!” Billy slammed a fist against the door. Steve flinched violently. 

Billy turned away, went over and grabbed the TV remote, kicked the bureau, and then sprawled on the bed. He turned on the TV and started flicking through channels. 

When he looked over, Steve was watching him with wide eyes. 

“Go take a goddamn shower,” Billy told him. “We’ll have to share the bed, but I won’t do anything. You can leave in the morning.”

“But… We—I—”

“What? You gonna try and convince me that you _want_ me to fuck you?” 

Steve hesitated. Billy honestly expected him to walk out the door, but after a minute, Steve toed off his high tops. He reached down and set them neatly in a row, like this was some fancy place and not a crappy roadside motel with stained carpet and ugly curtains. “Okay,” he said softly. “Thanks.” 

And then he edged toward the bathroom, not quite looking at Billy, but clearly hyper-aware of where Billy was and what he was doing. 

Jesus fucking Christ. It made him want to scream. What had it been? Two slaps? Two slaps from that muscle-bound gorilla earlier and getting shoved into the wall? That was nothing. Billy’s dad never stopped at a _slap_. But had Billy fallen apart like a pussy? No. 

He turned off the TV. Listened to the sound of the shower. 

Whatever. He’d be out of here tomorrow. Back on the road. Indiana disappearing in his rearview, just like Ohio. 

He kicked off his shoes. Left them in a jumble on the carpet and threw his belt and jeans down to join them. Remembered he had to walk over to the door to turn off the overhead light. Fuck. 

But the shower had stopped. Steve would be getting out, wrapping a towel around his hips, water trickling down the flat panes of his chest, steam curling his hair. Billy got up and turned off the light. He got under the covers, laid on one side facing the window and the thin curtain that let in the glow of the lights outside the door.

He pretended he was asleep when Steve approached the bed with wary footsteps and gritted his teeth as Steve gingerly slid into the bed on the other side. 

And for a second, Billy let himself think about how it might have been—if he’d gotten to Steve at the bar first. If he’d… if he’d _done_ something when that guy was slapping Steve around. How then maybe he could have slid an arm around Steve, lying here in the bed together, and kissed the curve of his shoulder. 

This was why it was dangerous to dream about anything except the ocean. The ocean that stretched out wide and vast, that would never change no matter what Billy did, no matter how he fucked up. 

Soon. He’d be back there soon, sand warm under his bare feet, and he’d find someone. Someone who smiled at him, wanted him, and who would erase the memory of Steve’s scared eyes and his sweet mouth parting under Billy’s thumb.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve emerged from sleep slowly, almost waking up before another wave of drowsiness rolled over him and tugged him back down. He hadn’t had a good night’s rest in so long. Distantly, he heard the sound of water running in a sink. His mom must be up already. She’d call him soon for breakfast.

But no. He wasn’t home. He’d left Hawkins months ago. Full awareness returned, and he froze, painfully awake, adrenaline pumping through him. He was in the motel, where he’d come with that guy, Billy. 

And he’d been fast asleep. Billy could have… could have done _anything_. Fuck, why was he always so stupid? He should have left, gotten out of here the minute Billy started yelling and punching the wall last night. Except he’d needed a shower so badly, and the thought of getting to sleep in an actual bed—he’d been so tired. And Billy hadn’t done anything. Steve cautiously flexed his limbs. There were no new aches; he was still wearing his briefs. 

The bathroom door opened suddenly, and Steve sat up, holding the covers over his body, but putting one foot on the floor. 

Billy stepped out and then stopped, looking startled to see Steve crouched there like an animal ready to bolt. Then he rolled his eyes and walked over to where his clothes were piled on the floor. He casually stripped off the towel around his waist, and Steve got an eyeful of Billy’s junk, the flex of his thighs, and his tight abs. He jerked his eyes away, stared at the wall. Was Billy going to ask for something now? Some compensation for letting him spend the night? 

“Morning, sunshine,” Billy said, sarcastic, and Steve hunched his shoulders, not sure what to do. 

When Billy didn’t say anything else, he decided the best thing to do would be to get dressed, quickly, and get out before Billy _did_ ask for something. He slid from the bed, grabbed his jeans and t-shirt. “I’ll get out of your hair,” he muttered. “Thanks again for, uh, letting me spend the night.”

Still nothing from Billy, and Steve reached into his jeans’ pocket for his chapstick, wishing he had a glass of juice or coffee to soothe his dry mouth. His fingers found the ten dollars Billy had given him last night instead, and fresh humiliation flooded him. He could eat for several days with this, but—but Billy was in between him and the door. And he hadn’t earned it. Hadn’t even managed a hand job. 

“Here.” He held the money out to Billy, not quite meeting his eyes, calculating the distance to the door. “Since we never… you know.” 

“Fucked?” Billy said in a dry voice, but he didn’t sound angry, not like last night, and Steve chanced a look in his direction. Billy had his arms crossed over his chest, but his face was relaxed, kind of weary, like maybe he hadn’t slept much. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah. That.”

Billy ignored the money and instead started rooting around in a large duffel bag. Bemused, Steve let his arm fall and eased around the end of the bed, drawing a little closer. Billy straightened, a bottle of hairspray and a roll brush in his hands. 

Steve stared. “Uh. What?”

Billy rolled his eyes again. “Your hair, man, is a goddamn disaster.”

Steve opened his mouth. Shut it. 

“Jesus. Come on,” Billy said, impatient, and he chivvied Steve into the bathroom. Steve tensed when Billy knocked his arm and chest into him, but then he went with it, let Billy push him. Then he stood blinking at the mirror. “Oh.”

“Yeah. See?” 

Billy balanced the hairspray and brush on the tiny ledge over the sink and went back into the other room, presumably to finish packing. After a moment, Steve splashed some water on his face and then tackled his hair. 

He did the best he could. It wasn’t his usual brand of spray, and he needed a comb and some gel, but it looked better. He didn’t like meeting his eyes in the mirror, though. Didn’t like the way the small bathroom closed in around him, drab walls and mildewed tile. It made him think of that other bathroom, of that man’s hand around his throat, of fingers tightening painfully in his hair, his knees aching from the hard floor. 

He clutched the edge of the sink. Took a few deep breaths. 

Billy was flipping through TV channels when he came back out, but as soon as he saw Steve he turned it off. He took the hairspray and brush without comment, stowed them in his duffle, zipped it, and swung it over one shoulder. Steve followed him outside, pausing to slide on his shoes that were still waiting neatly by the door and shrug on his jacket. 

The sun was bright, and Billy put on a pair of sunglasses. Steve watched as he slung the duffel into the trunk of the Camaro and slammed it shut. He looked beyond Billy, to the busy street, wondered if there was a bus that would take him where he needed to go, realized that he’d have to use one of the five dollar bills and that buses didn’t give change. Fuck. Maybe he should splurge and call a fucking taxi. It was that or walk. 

“You hungry?”

The question brought his attention to Billy again. Billy, who was leaning on the hood of his car, twirling his keys around one finger, his shirt half-unbuttoned. Steve swallowed, saliva flooding his mouth at the mention of food. 

“I’m gonna hit a diner on my way out of town,” Billy continued. “Figured you probably want some breakfast too.”

Steve wished Billy would take off his sunglasses so he could see his eyes. He couldn’t get a handle on this guy. A word floated into his mind, along with memories of English class junior year, of Nancy giggling and half-heartedly slapping him with the book they were supposed to be studying when he kept trying to steal kisses. 

_Mercurial_. 

He blamed the fact he hadn’t eaten in over a day for the way his vision blurred. 

_It means a person whose mood changes unpredictably, Steve. It was on a vocabulary test a few weeks ago. Do you pay_ any _attention in class? And don’t say that you spend the whole time looking at me._

But she’d laughed and blushed. He’d made her _happy_. 

“Okay. Okay, man. That’d be great.” He was at the Camaro, fumbling with the door handle, before he quite realized it. He couldn’t think about her _now_. Couldn’t think about any of that shit now. Too fucking late for that, wasn’t it? Going with Billy—even if he didn’t know who Billy was or what the fuck he would do—it was better—better than the alternative. 

Inside the car, he bounced his leg up and down, on edge, until Billy snapped, “Would you settle down? Remind me not to give you any coffee, jeez.” 

“Sorry.” He jammed his hands in his jacket pockets instead, slumped down in the seat. “Sorry.” 

Billy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Steve’s leg twitched, but he stilled it with an effort of will. 

“Well?” Billy said finally, turning to look at him. “Will you tell me how to get to fucking Denny’s or what?”

Steve told him. Had to grab onto the door handle as Billy peeled out of the parking lot and took a turn too fast. He wished Billy would put some music on like he had last night. He was starting to regret getting in the car. Maybe… maybe Billy had just been too tired last night. Maybe they weren’t going Denny’s. Maybe Billy was going to take him somewhere else, haul him out of the car, make him… make him….

He remembered how strong Billy’s hand had felt, squeezing his thigh. 

“You’re like my goddamn step-sister,” Billy said, and Steve tensed up, not sure where this was going. 

Billy had lit a cigarette before they left the parking lot, and now he rolled down the window, blew the smoke into the wind. “Sitting there, fucking scared of me. What do I have to do, huh? Left you alone last night, didn’t I? And now I invited you to fucking breakfast.” 

Seriously? Was Billy upset that Steve wasn’t acting _happier_? “You yell at her like that too?” he retorted. 

Billy laughed, a short, bitter sound. Then he punched the radio and slammed his foot on the gas and didn’t answer the question. 

*

The pancakes tasted like heaven. The coffee too, even though Billy gave him a look when Steve eagerly held his mug out to the waitress. Steve didn’t care. He was going to bask in the moment, even if the combination of caffeine and sugar sent his systems into shock. 

So he poured on more syrup and watched Billy flirt with the waitress. Billy seemed calmer now. He had stretched himself out in the booth, one arm flung over the top, and every time their waitress passed through his field of vision, Billy grinned at her. Sometimes he threw in a wink too. 

Steve wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Billy had been in a gay bar last night, after all, and chosen to bring Steve back to his motel room. He kind of got the feeling that Billy just couldn’t help it. That he knew he was hot and that he liked showing it off—like a peacock, displaying its tail. Actually, if Steve was going to stick with this whole line of work, he should probably take notes. 

And yep, there went his appetite. Steve scraped the tines of his fork through the syrup remnants, even though he still had some scrambled eggs left to eat and two pieces of bacon. He could only make ten dollars go so far. He’d have to go back. Back into another dirty bathroom. Let some strange guy have his mouth. And inevitably one of them would want more. He’d never got that far with Jason. But it would happen now, with some stranger.

Billy kicked his foot under the table, and he looked up, found that Billy was offering him another cigarette. He took it with a muttered “thanks.” The nicotine settled his nerves a little. 

“So where are you headed to?” he asked because he still didn’t know anything about Billy really, but they’d slept in the same bed and were now eating breakfast together and that was just…. Weird. 

“California,” Billy replied, taking a sip of his coffee. Despite what he’d said earlier, Billy didn’t seem in a huge hurry to get on the road, seemed content to eat a leisurely breakfast, didn’t seem opposed to questions. 

“Oh? Is that home?”

“It was. I grew up there, and then we moved to Ohio when I was in high school. Jesus that fucking sucked. You grow up here?”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m from a little town called Hawkins, south of here.”

“Sounds like shit. Like the hick town in Ohio my dad dragged us to.”

He could have defended Hawkins, but, well, it had been shitty. Especially the last few years.

Billy was continuing, sounding casual, but sure. Sure of himself, of what he wanted. “Would have left the day after I graduated high school, but I needed some money to make the trip, have something to live on while I get settled.”

Steve nodded, felt a pang of envy. Wished he was the one with a plan, who’d gotten a job, saved money, could afford to treat someone to breakfast. 

“What about you?” Billy said, and Steve stilled, then scraped his fork over the plate again.

“What about me?”

Billy shrugged. “Guess it’s none of my business, but I gotta say, man, you seem pretty shit at this whole prostitution thing.” 

“Don’t say that out loud,” Steve hissed, mortified. Thank God the booth next to theirs was empty. “And I—I haven’t been doing it long, okay? The other night, this guy—I don’t know, for some reason he thought I _was_ , and he offered me money, and so I—I did it. And I need money, and I thought, if this—if this is what I can do. And it’s not like—I mean, I do have a job. I got a job, part-time, flipping burgers. But it’s not much, and I didn’t know anybody here. Nobody I could stay with, and I can’t afford rent anywhere. And so I thought, well, it can’t be _hard_ right? It’s easy money. And he—he told me to go to that bar, that his friend would—would want me. And so I did and then that guy…. that guy—”

He finally managed to cut himself off, stop talking, stop the words rambling out of him. This always happened, and his dad had hated it, and his mom would just tune him out and murmur, “yes, honey,” at intervals without really listening. 

He chanced a glance at Billy and couldn’t read his expression. He felt sick to his stomach now, wanted to go somewhere quiet and private. He hadn’t cried last night, but he thought he might, now, and he didn’t want to do it in front of Billy. 

“Hey,” Billy said, and he waited until Steve looked at him to continue. “You should come with me.”

Steve blinked. “Uh. What?” he found himself saying for the second time that day. 

“Come with me to California,” Billy repeated, as though it was a no-brainer, obvious.

“Why… why would I do that?” Steve said.

“You got a reason to stay here?”

“I guess not,” he admitted after a moment. There were his parents, his home—he still thought of it as home, even after everything. But his dad had made it clear he wasn’t welcome there. Wouldn’t be welcome until he’d straightened out, until he’d proven that he was an adult, that he could manage college, a job, that he wasn’t going to do anymore queer shit with boys. Yeah. Steve was doing _spectacularly_ with that. If his dad ever found out what he’d done. If his _mom_ did….

“I don’t have anything in California either, though,” he added, because even if he did leave, it’d just be exchanging one dead end for another.

“Yeah, but in California it’s never fucking ten degrees below zero in the fucking winter,” Billy said, dead serious, as though this was the thing that would end any argument, ever. 

The thing was it was true, though. And it made him laugh, and he felt a sudden surge of… of _something_ that he couldn’t name, but it was a good feeling. 

“Okay,” he said. “Fuck. Why not?”


	3. Chapter 3

Another hick town in the middle of nowhere. Cows. Cornfields. Eighty miles out of their way. And all because Steve thought it imperative that they visit the World’s Biggest Ball of Twine. 

Billy was looking at it right now, and yeah, it was _big_ , but why the fuck would someone put all this effort into a ball of _twine_? It was not worth driving eighty miles north. They’d be stuck in Kansas another day because of this little excursion. 

But as soon as Steve started seeing the billboards on the interstate advertising Cawker City and their amazing ball of twine, he wouldn’t shut up about it. Apparently, Billy’s plan of spending as little time in Kansas as possible was a travesty, an insult to the American Road Trip. 

“I mean, you have to go to at least _one_ kitschy roadside attraction,” Steve had said. And then he’d kept talking about it until Billy finally pulled off onto the exit for Cawker City with a savage jerk of the wheel. 

“Jesus, I would’ve left you in Indiana, if I’d known you’d be such a whiny bitch,” he’d muttered.

And that had shut Steve up. He’d gotten all quiet and made himself kind of small in the passenger seat, and it made Billy feel like shit. 

He’d felt like shit often enough in Ohio. Had wanted to leave that behind. Meant to leave it behind. But it wasn’t that simple. Of course it fucking wasn’t. 

But somehow he’d ended up with this boy in his car. This jumble of sad brown eyes and pink shoes and nervous fingers and a kissable mouth. And now that he was in Billy’s car, Billy had a… responsibility for him.

Fuck. That word. _Responsibility_. Bruised into his skin by his father’s fists. But Neil never meant it like this. Never meant it to encompass sitting in a diner, watching Steve inhale a stack of pancakes and lick syrup off his fork. Never meant it to mean seeing Steve struggle not to cry and _know_ how that felt and wanting to make it stop. 

The Camaro’s passenger seat was empty. He had space, room to be generous. To offer someone else the chance he was taking. The chance to get the hell out, to leave it all behind and start over. The words slipped out before he could second-guess himself, and his heart had pounded, nervous. Why the fuck he’d been nervous, he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he’d woken up that morning, in bed with another boy, and spent ten minutes just staring, looking at Steve’s face, all soft with sleep. 

And now he was at the World’s Biggest Ball of Twine, still kind of pissed off, while Steve stood a few feet away, picking at one of his fingernails and looking guilty.

“Come on,” Billy said, jerking his head in the direction of the gift shop. He banged the door open too hard, earning a glare from the woman behind the register. Billy ignored her and went over to the rack of t-shirts. He pulled out a blue one and held it up to Steve.

“Is blue your color, pretty boy?” he asked. 

“We can leave,” Steve said, not looking at the shirt. “I… I didn’t mean for you to have to drive all the way here.”

“Not blue? How about purple?” He held up another shirt. 

The muscles in Steve’s jaw twitched. “Look, I get it, okay? You’re already offering me a ride. I shouldn’t ask for anything else. You don’t have to buy me anything else.” 

So Billy was shit at apologies. No surprise there. He’d only ever been good at them when his dad had given him a shiner, maybe a kick in the ribs too, right? Well, fuck that. Steve wasn’t his dad, they weren’t in Ohio, and things were going to be different, dammit.

He grabbed a red shirt and walked over to the register, gave the lady a smile, leaned toward her and said in a sultry tone, “I think this is my color. Mind if I try it on?”

She opened her mouth, gave Billy’s chest a considering glance, and then told him to go ahead. Grinning, he stripped off his jacket, then his shirt, let her get a good look. He could feel Steve looking too. The shirt was a little tight in the shoulders, but he told her he’d take it. 

Back outside, Billy led the way to the Camaro. Steve followed, looking confused and hurt and a bit angry. When they were sitting in the car again, Billy turned to face him. 

“Every time I wear this shirt, I’m gonna think of today,” he said. “I’m gonna think of that long, straight highway, and how we made it a whole twenty minutes with no ads on the radio, just music. I’m gonna think of those ice cream bars we had at the gas station. I’m gonna think of this crazy town and the crazy dude who spent years wrapping that fucking ball of twine. I’m gonna think of the way you smiled when we crossed the state line into Kansas. I’m gonna remember a good day.” 

Steve stared into his eyes for a long moment, and Billy forced himself not to look away, to show he was being honest. 

With a huffed laugh, Steve relaxed in the seat. “Jesus, you couldn’t just _say_ it was okay? You had to put on that whole production back there? Stripping off your shirt—”

And then he laughed again, louder, happy, and Billy had done that, had made it all right. 

“Thought that bitch was gonna try and fucking lick my chest or something,” he said, laughing too.

“Ugh, don’t be gross. And don’t knock the dude who started that twine ball. You have to admire his dedication, even if he was crazy.”

Steve segued into a contemplation of other weird hobbies, and Billy listened with half an ear while cruising through Cawker City, looking for a cheap motel. It was late in the afternoon, and while they could have kept driving, he didn’t want to spend twelve, fourteen hours on the road every day. Safe in the knowledge that California was waiting for him at the end, he was content to let the anticipation build. Not for too long—no more twine balls or shit like that—but now that they were in Cawker City, he didn’t mind relaxing here for a night. 

There weren’t a whole lot of choices when it came to accommodations, but they settled on one, and Billy went round to the back of the car to unlock the trunk and grab their luggage. 

The Camaro’s trunk was fuller than it had been that morning. Billy’s duffel, two suitcases, and cardboard box had been joined by Steve’s ratty backpack, a rolling suitcase with one of those dumb leather leashes attached to it, and two shoeboxes with their lids taped down. Back at the diner, after Steve agreed to come, Billy had asked him if he had any stuff he wanted to collect before they left. Steve got quiet, but said yes after a minute, and he directed Billy to a street a few miles away and a BMW parked there. 

Billy drastically revised his mental image of Steve and his parents—Steve was, no _had been_ , a rich kid. It made him even more curious about what had happened to put Steve on his knees in a gay bar sucking off a stranger for money. 

“The battery died a few weeks ago,” Steve said. “And it belongs to my dad anyway. I guess it’ll get towed. Do you think the police would call him?”

“I don’t know, probably, with a nice car like this.” 

Steve chewed on his lower lip. “They won’t know what happened to me. My mom—I guess she’ll be upset. Maybe not, though, after… after everything.” 

“You can give her a call from California. Let her know where you are.” 

“She’ll flip out. They both will. My dad….” Steve swallowed, staring down at this hands in his lap. 

“So, what? You want to stay?” Billy asked after a minute or two of silence. “Because I’ll tell you now—if you change your mind half-way across Colorado, I sure as shit ain’t driving you back here.”

Steve’s mouth thinned. “I’m coming,” he said and got out of the Camaro, slamming the door with more force than necessary.

Billy followed, and got there in time to see Steve trying to hide the pillow and blanket that had been draped over the back seat. He could have told Steve it wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about—he’d spent the night in his car more than once when Neil locked him out of the house. “Need me to carry anything?” he asked instead, and Steve handed him the two shoeboxes. 

“Careful with those,” he had said. “Please.” 

And Billy nodded and made sure to tuck them into the trunk so they wouldn’t rattle too hard. They were still there now, and Steve’s BMW was hundreds of miles behind them.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Billy said after they’d brought their stuff into the motel room. It had two beds this time, both because he wasn’t sure how Steve would react to _one_ bed and because it would be a fucking bad idea for two guys to rent a room with one bed in a town like this. 

“We could get takeout and eat down by that lake we drove by on the way in,” Steve suggested after taking a look around the cramped room that smelled of old cigarette smoke.

So they got McDonald’s and went to the lake, and Billy found a small, deserted parking lot at an overlook. Steve started to sit at a battered metal picnic table, but Billy kept walking, down the hill and closer to the water, to a sunny spot by some cottonwoods whose leaves were turning yellow. The sun wouldn’t last much longer, but for now it was warm and out of sight of the road and gawking locals driving by in their cars. 

“Was that a bag of weed you stuffed in your pocket?” Steve asked, sitting next to Billy on the ground and accepting the hamburger Billy handed to him. 

“Yeah. We can smoke a joint after,” Billy said around a mouthful.

“Sounds fucking marvelous.” Steve took a bite of his own burger, and then stretched out his legs with a luxurious sigh, tilting his head back and basking in the sunlight. “Not such a bad place after all, huh?”

“Already said it wasn’t.” He let himself look at Steve, at the line of his throat, his hair ruffled by the breeze, and then focused back on the water.

Honestly, he’d have been fine just sitting there, eating, smoking some weed, this pretty boy at his side, who wasn’t _his_ but who knew Billy was gay. But he was catching on to the fact that Steve was a talker and sure enough, soon he was asking what Billy planned on doing in California, why he wanted to move there.

“I like California, always missed it. I like the beach—surfing—”

“Not wearing a shirt,” Steve interjected, grinning, and Billy leaned over to give him a shove. 

“You got a problem with me showing off this body?” Billy said, with a bit of a leer, and felt a thrill when Steve went red around the ears and didn’t say “no.” 

“As to what I want to do,” Billy continued, willing to give him a break for the time being at least, “I don’t know. I’ll find some kind of job, think about it for a while. Maybe I’ll even go to college. Maybe not. I mean, I spent the last few years in high school and before that, I was just a kid. How the fuck are you supposed to know what you ‘want to be when you grow up’ when you’re a kid? And high school is just shit. So it’s bullshit that I would know what I want to do with my life at this point.” 

“I never thought about it like that, but yeah. I never knew what I wanted to do either. My dad is a lawyer, and he always expected me to become one too, to join the firm.” Steve paused and started folding his empty hamburger wrapper into smaller and smaller squares. “But I suck at school,” he admitted in a softer voice. “I almost didn’t graduate last year. I can’t be a lawyer. So he was pissed about that. And then… and then the whole thing with Jason happened.”

“Jason?” Billy asked, starting to roll them both joints. He was glad he’d had the foresight to grab the bag of weed—Steve needed to chill out a little. He was bouncing his foot up and down again, and the hamburger wrapper was starting to tear. 

Steve sighed and slumped back into the grass. “I used to be the king at Hawkins High, you know. Looking back, I kind of behaved like a dick. But it was pretty awesome too. Parties, girls, everyone thinking I was the coolest. It was nice.” 

Billy had made himself king of his own high school in Ohio—he’d dethroned the previous king by, okay, yeah, being a dick, but it wasn’t like Billy didn’t deserve to be on top of the hill. It had been his skills at basketball that got them to the state championships his senior year. And he couldn’t blame all the girls who flocked to him—or their mothers—when he brought some West Coast style and good looks into their drab little lives. Steve had probably had the title handed to him by virtue of his parents’ wealth and the fact that he could host rad parties. 

“And then I met this girl, Nancy,” Steve continued. “She was sweet—different from the girls I usually hooked up with. We started going out, but then she dumped me for this total loser, and I… well, I did some shit. Got in trouble with the cops. My grades weren’t so hot, and my dad was furious about all of it. Cut off my allowance, so no more parties, no more buying booze and weed for my friends. And getting your girl stolen by a dweeb was like, the nail in the coffin of my popularity.”

So basically, Steve had been an idiot and hadn’t realized being popular meant you had to fucking work at it, and that if you showed a hint of weakness, it was over. In other circumstances, Billy might have scorned him for it, but now it just made him feel weirdly sad and angry on Steve’s behalf. Like he wanted to go back in time and punch some of those jerks. Because he could picture all the things Steve wasn’t saying—the gossip, the comments, the cold shoulders, maybe a bully tripping him on the basketball court. Hell, if Billy had been there, he might have been doing that shit to Steve himself. Because it would have been an opening, and he’d have taken it without a second thought. 

But here, now, sitting by this lake, far away from Ohio and his dad, it was different. He didn’t need the mantle of a king to protect himself, to keep away any hint that Billy Hargrove was actually a faggot. 

Steve shivered. The sun had dipped down below the horizon now, and the breeze off the lake had turned chilly. “I got depressed, I guess. That’s what my school counselor said, but my parents thought I was just being rebellious. And then Jason showed up. He was in law school, doing an internship at my dad’s firm. My dad invited him over to our house for dinner sometimes.”

Steve stopped, smoked in silence for a few moments. “How long have you known that you like guys?” he asked Billy.

The weed was making him feel loose and calm, and this was even better. To be able to fucking _talk_ about it. “Since fourth grade.”

“And what about girls?”

“I’ve fucked girls. Because otherwise people would talk. But I’m gay.” He laughed suddenly and then shouted out across the water, “Hear that dad? Your fucking son is a faggot.” 

Steve startled, chewed on his lip and looked at Billy with those big eyes of his. “So your dad…?”

“He didn’t _know_. He suspected, maybe. Anyway, he found plenty of other reasons to smack me around. To make sure I stayed _respectful_.”

Steve sucked in a breath, and the next Billy knew, cold fingers were tentatively covering his hand. Even through his high, he didn’t know what do with that, made him jittery, so he jerked his hand away and shrugged off his jacket, then draped it over Steve’s shoulders. Covered his uncertainty with a, “Jesus, your hands are fucking freezing.” 

Steve huddled into Billy’s jacket and didn’t try to take his hand again. He’d finished his joint, and now he stared out at the water, looking sad. “Well, my dad does know.”

“’Cause of that Jason dude?”

“Yeah. I guess because there was always a girl I liked, I never thought much about guys. But then he showed up and….” Steve sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees. “He was cute and smart. And he helped me with my homework, like Nancy used to do. We liked the same bands. And when he kissed me—it just felt so right, you know? My dad found us in my bed, with my hand down Jason’s pants and his tongue in my mouth.”

It made Billy sick, thinking about what would have happened to him if Neil had ever found him in a similar situation. 

“Jason lost his internship, went back to his college, and he never wrote to me or anything.” Steve’s voice was thick, and Billy knew he was trying not to cry. “And my dad told me to get out. He told me not to come back until I’d gotten a job, until I could prove to him I was an adult, a man, and not some queer fuck-up that he didn’t want for a son. And my mom just cried. She looked so… _disappointed_.” 

It was getting dark now, but Billy could see the shine of tears on Steve’s cheeks. 

“So that’s why I was… doing what I was doing,” Steve concluded, sniffing and wiping at his eyes. “Because my parents kicked me out, and I didn’t have any money, and I didn’t know what to do.”

Jesus. Oh fuck, this pretty, messed-up boy. He was breaking Billy’s heart. 

Trouble was, he’d spent most of his life trying _not_ to care. It would have hurt too badly if he did. But now he could. He could care about Steve, had started to already. But it scared him, because, just like Steve, he didn’t know what to do. 

That tan, gorgeous guy in California that Billy was going to meet? That was safe. That was the future. But this was now, and Steve was sitting right here, wearing Billy’s jacket and crying, hurting. And it was one thing to think about putting his arm around another boy, of holding him close, of calling him ‘baby,’ and another thing to actually do it. 

The chance slipped away from him, because Steve stood up and said in a wobbly voice, “Let’s go back to the motel, watch some TV or something. It’s getting too cold to stay out here.” 

“Okay,” Billy said, feeling tired all of a sudden, and like it had been a long, strange day. 

He didn’t try to take his jacket back, though, and Steve kept wearing it, kept it on even after he was in his bed at the motel, and the heater by the window was rattling and wheezing, and _Miami Vice_ was filling the TV with shots of Florida sunshine. 

Billy’s string of girlfriends had worn his jackets before, but it had never given him the same feeling.

A strange day. But like he’d said to Steve earlier, a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to confess that I have never actually watched Stranger Things. But I have read a lot of Harringrove fic and watched key scenes for both Billy and Steve on YouTube, so.... given that this is an AU, I hope I'm not butchering the characterizations too badly. And if I am, please forgive it for the sake of angst, pining, h/c, and pet names.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, um, upped the rating (should have known, really). Also, I have an estimated chapter count and a general idea of where this angst fest is headed.

Driving west meant they didn’t have the rising sun in their eyes, but it glanced off the windshield of every car going the opposite direction, a bright stab of light that didn’t help Steve’s incipient headache. He’d slept poorly, and the shit coffee they’d bought at a gas station before leaving Cawker City hadn’t helped at all. The Styrofoam cup was keeping his hands warm, though. An autumnal chill pervaded the air, but Billy hadn’t turned on the heater in the car. For all he apparently didn’t like Midwestern winters, Billy didn’t seem particularly bothered by the cold. He had his jacket unzipped and shirt half-unbuttoned, had even cracked open the window so he could smoke a cigarette.

He looked unfairly sexy, actually, while Steve felt chilly and tired and was pretty sure his eyes were still puffy from crying last night. Another wave of shame engulfed him as he remembered how he’d just told Billy _everything_ , fucking everything. The whole pathetic story of how he’d ended up here. 

Billy had been decent about it. Hadn’t said much, really, but he hadn’t treated Steve any differently that morning, either. But he couldn’t help thinking that Billy might be regretting offering to bring him along to California. Billy was paying for everything, after all. Steve felt guilty every time they bought a meal or snacks or checked into a motel. And if Billy had wanted… compensation, he wouldn’t have said no. But Billy hadn’t touched him again, not in that way, not since that first night. 

It made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough. Like if he didn’t do more, do _something_ , Billy would get tired of him, decide he was too much of a hassle. He didn’t want Billy to leave him somewhere on the side of the road. And not just because then he’d be stuck in a strange place with no money and no transportation, but because he was starting to like Billy, who could be charming and funny when he wasn’t angry or being a dick. It would hurt, now, if Billy decided to leave him. More than it would have two days ago. 

“We’re headed for Denver today,” Billy announced, jolting Steve out of his thoughts.

He took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee and grimaced. “You ever been there before?”

“Drove through it on the way to Ohio.”

Steve hummed, tapping his foot on the floorboard. “We used to go skiing in Aspen back when I was in elementary school, so I’ve been in the airport a few times.” He faltered, then, words catching up to him, not wanting to sound as though he was bragging and not wanting to remember the white slopes, his dad teaching him how to ski, his mom helping him up when he fell. 

Billy didn’t seem annoyed, though. “There’s a club in Denver I want to hit up tonight,” he continued. “Supposed to be okay for queers.”

That word still made Steve’s stomach lurch, but that was them, both him and Billy. He should get used to it, should have told his dad that _he_ had to get used to it too. Instead, he’d just slunk out of the house like a coward.

“How do you know about all these places?” he asked aloud, because Billy had been at that gay bar in Indianapolis that Steve had only stumbled on by accident after living there for a few months. 

“I drove up to Columbus a couple times and went to this bookstore. They had a bunch of muscle magazines, trashy books, and about a hundred copies of Forster’s _Maurice_ , but there was a travel guide too that listed safe places to go all over the country. I memorized a couple, knowing I’d be headed this way eventually.”

Steve pondered this information for a moment. “There’s a word for if you like both guys and girls, right? ‘Bisexual’?”

“Yeah.” Billy glanced at him. “That you?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Is it better, in California?” 

Billy shrugged. “Some places. I’m going to make sure I land in one of them that’s near a beach. It’ll be like—I don’t know—fucking monsoon season after the drought I’ve been through.” He made a low, filthy noise. 

Steve got a flash image of Billy in tight swim trunks, strutting down a beach in his aviators, leering at every hot guy he passed. He shifted in his seat. Looked out the window. 

“Anyway, we’re gonna get a taste of it tonight,” Billy added, and Steve could hear the smirk in his voice. 

He shifted again, turned back to Billy. “You don’t have to bring me along. It might be expensive and—”

“Are you kidding?” Billy interrupted. “You haven’t gotten the chance to watch me dance.”

“That much of an honor is it?” he said, raising his eyebrows, unimpressed.

Billy just grinned. “You better believe it. Besides, I want to know what you’re like when you loosen up some, have a few drinks. See how well _you_ dance.”

Was Billy _flirting_ with him? He could feel a flush creeping up his face. Billy saw it too, and he laughed, a sly, satisfied sound. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” Steve muttered, sliding down in the seat and taking another swig of his cold coffee. 

*

He couldn’t stop thinking about the money, though. All he had was the ten dollars Billy had given him the other night, and it seemed sort of pointless to try and give it back again only for Billy to turn around and spend it on him once more. But it made humiliation burn hot in his chest that he couldn’t even pay for his meals. First he’d lived off his dad’s money all those years, and now he was doing the same to Billy. How much longer would Billy put up with it?

And so when they stopped at a rest area in eastern Colorado, and he saw a couple of big rigs parked there too, his heart started beating faster. He didn’t _want_ to do it, but sometimes you had to do things you didn’t want to do. Like his dad always told him—it didn’t matter if he didn’t want to study, if he didn’t want to go to law school, if he didn’t want to behave like an adult. He just had to do it. And Steve hadn’t listened and look where it had gotten him. 

So he futzed around by the vending machines while Billy went to the restroom, waited until Billy was stretching his legs and having a smoke to go to the toilets himself. And yeah, there was a man, one of the truckers, in there too, and Steve still didn’t know much, but he did know the look to give him. 

The man didn’t spit and call him a faggot, so he took a chance, said, “I’ll blow you for five bucks.” Five because he couldn’t take too much time, couldn’t haggle over the price, or Billy would come and find him. 

There was a space in between the last stall and the concrete walls, out of sight of the open entrance. He knelt down, winced at the gravel poking into his knees, and made himself reach for the man’s zipper. The guy was average size, thank God, maybe he could take it without choking. He’d grabbed a condom from his backpack before getting out of the car, careful not to let Billy see, and he fumbled with it, fingers shaking as he tried to tear it open. The man nudged his leg with the toe of his boot, grunted, “Hurry up, kid. I ain’t got all day.” 

And it wasn’t so awful, not the worst thing ever, if he thought about it clinically, tried to get it done fast, ignored the smell, kept his eyes shut as much as possible. But he didn’t hear the footsteps, either, didn’t realize, not until Billy was saying, “What the _fuck_?” and opened his eyes to see Billy’s fist smashing into the man’s nose.

Steve got shoved aside, sprawled on his back, and then scrambled up because Billy was attacking the guy—there was blood and screaming, and the man landed a punch in Billy’s stomach, but Billy was vicious, no holds barred, and shit, shit, what if he—what if he killed the guy or something—

“Billy! Billy, _stop_! Stop! He didn’t—he didn’t force me, Billy. Stop—you have to stop.” He was trying to hang onto Billy’s arm, trying to get between them, and he got an elbow in his face, a boot slammed into his shin. Then the man was stumbling onto the ground, spitting blood, and Billy whirled on Steve instead, furious. 

He backed him up, and Steve ran into the edge of a sink with his hip, grabbed the slick, cold porcelain, met Billy’s eyes for a bare second, and then looked away, his heart pounding rabbit-fast, sweaty, shaky, sick. 

“What the fuck were you doing?” Billy demanded. “What the fuck was _that_?”

Steve flinched, but then his own anger surged, and he faced Billy, spat, “What did it fucking _look _like?” and then pushed past him, ran outside and then settled into a fast walk, Billy’s footsteps pounding after him.__

__“What were you thinking?” Billy yelled. “Are you such a slut that you just get on your knees in a public restroom for some fat sack of shit like that?”_ _

__They were almost back at the Camaro, but Steve stopped, spun around. “Fuck you! I. Need. Money. Is that so fucking hard for you to understand?”_ _

__Billy paled, eyes still wild, but some of his anger snuffed out by Steve’s words. “What are you talking about? I’m taking care of you. Aren’t I?”_ _

__“Well maybe I don’t want you to,” Steve snapped. “Maybe I don’t want you to have to buy me everything.” He scrubbed a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’ve known me for, like, three days, and you’re having to spend all this money on me. And I’m not helpless. I—I can contribute. Just let me—”_ _

__“Let you?” Billy interrupted, and now he was quieter, colder, and that was worse, maybe. “Let you what, Steve? Let you get slapped around? Let you choke on a guy’s dick? Maybe let him fuck you up against the wall? Is that what you want me to let you do?”_ _

__“I don’t _want_ to do it,” Steve said, and his voice broke, and shit, no, he wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. “But—”_ _

__“But you’d rather do that than let me help you,” Billy finished, and Steve couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. After a second, Billy broke eye contact and strode past him, his shoulder catching against Steve’s, pushing him to the side, making him stumble._ _

__Billy slammed his hands down on the Camaro’s hood with a bang that echoed across the almost-empty parking lot. “Fuck!” he yelled. Then he turned back around, pointed at Steve, pointed at the car. “Get in.”_ _

__Steve hesitated, not sure he wanted to get in a car with Billy when he was acting like this._ _

__Billy saw his hesitation, saw that he was scared, and he shut his eyes a second, took a deep breath. “I’m not going to hit you,” he said in a level voice when he opened his eyes again. “I won’t lay a hand on you. But someone might call the cops. We should get outta here.”_ _

__Cops would be bad. Worse than this. So Steve nodded and walked around to the passenger side, got in, sat there stiffly, his muscles knotted from the tension. He didn’t quite understand why Billy had been so angry. Once he’d realized Steve had done it of his own volition, he should have calmed down, but he’d only gotten more furious. Was he disgusted? Was he going to stop and tell Steve to get out?_ _

__They drove about fifteen miles, and then Billy pulled over at a gas station. Steve’s heart leapt into his throat. Billy killed the engine but didn’t move, just stared out the windshield. With his aviators on, Steve couldn’t see his expression. He tried to brace himself, knowing what was coming, promised himself he wouldn’t cry when Billy told him to leave._ _

__“Don’t I get the chance to do one good thing?” Billy said at last. He sounded kind of hopeless, resigned, and it was so opposite from what Steve had expected, that he could only stare at Billy for a few moments._ _

__“It’s not that I don’t want your help,” he finally mumbled, picking at the seat cover with his thumb. “I appreciate it. But… but I don’t want to _need_ help in the first place. If I’d… if I’d done better, I….” He trailed off, kept worrying at a seam in the cushion. _ _

__Billy’s hand covered his. “Baby, let’s leave my car alone, okay?” he said, wrapping Steve’s fingers in his instead._ _

__“Sorry.” He didn’t try to pull his hand away, liked the feeling of Billy’s calloused palm. Maybe he wasn’t going to get left here._ _

__“Let me help you,” Billy said after a minute. “Please. I… I need this too. Going to California—it’s a chance for me to start over, to be different. And if I can’t even help _one person_ , then—then I really am fucked up.” He tugged his hand away so he could shove up his aviators and swipe at the tears in his eyes. _ _

__Steve hadn’t thought about it that way. That maybe Billy helping him wasn’t just from a sense of pity or obligation. That maybe this could be good for both of them. It lifted some of the weight and eased his breath._ _

__“Okay,” he said._ _

__Billy took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing. “Okay,” he echoed. He looked at Steve for a minute, then reached out, slowly, carefully, and touched his fingers to Steve’s face where that guy’s elbow had caught him during the fight. It was tender, probably going to bruise._ _

__“Sorry,” Billy whispered. “Didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”_ _

__Steve swallowed, nodded, mourned the loss of Billy’s soft touch when he took his hand away. “What about you? He got you a couple times, didn’t he?”_ _

__“I’ve had worse,” Billy replied, and he slid his sunglasses back down over his eyes and started the engine._ _

__*_ _

__Steve fell asleep not long after they got on the road again, his restless night and the bad morning catching up to him. He woke up about thirty miles outside of Denver, sitting upright with a yawn and rubbing his aching neck._ _

__“Thought I was gonna have to carry you into the hotel,” Billy said, and Steve realized that Billy had been quiet that whole time, never turned on the radio or anything, just letting him sleep. It made him feel shy all of a sudden, and he flushed and started picking at the seat cover again until he caught himself with a jerk and sat on his hands. Billy laughed at him, and it made his blush even worse._ _

__Usually he could have managed a retort, a smart comeback, but he was still drowsy, not quite awake, and Billy was sharp and golden next to him, the sun streaming through the driver’s side window and catching his curly blonde hair, glinting off his sunglasses._ _

__They were staying in a nice hotel that night, Billy explained as they cruised into the city. One that was close to the club, so they could get trashed and not have to worry about driving. Billy hadn’t struck Steve as a paragon of safe driving habits, but he supposed that Billy didn’t want to risk totaling his only means of getting to California._ _

__He hadn’t been sure Billy would still want to go to the club after what had happened, but he seemed to have regained his usual spirits, full of swagger and self-confidence._ _

__“I haven’t got much to wear to a club,” Steve admitted._ _

__“I’ll hook you up with something,” Billy promised._ _

__“Something” proved to be a denim vest with a bunch of metal grommets and inset leather that Billy pulled out of his duffel in their hotel room that evening. They’d both showered, and Steve had done his hair before turning the mirror over to Billy, who was now smoking a cigarette as he combed a few curls over his forehead. Billy had on a white tank top and a pair of tight jeans, his leather jacket flung over the bedspread._ _

__The vest wasn’t Steve’s usual style, but he slipped it on over a black t-shirt without protest and was tying his shoelaces when Billy sauntered over._ _

__“This is your finishing touch,” he said, and held out a black pencil—no, Steve realized after a beat, it was eyeliner._ _

__“Where did you get that?” he asked._ _

__“Nicked it out of a girlfriend’s purse,” Billy replied, grinning and unrepentant. “Never tried it myself. I don’t think it’s quite my look. But you….” He waggled it between his fingers._ _

__“I don’t know,” Steve hedged. He’d never worn _makeup_. _ _

__Billy leaned down, bringing the scents of his cologne and cigarettes swirling into Steve’s nose. “Promise you’ll look good,” he whispered in his ear, and Steve shivered and took the eyeliner. This was flirting. It was definitely flirting. And he liked it. Liked the way Billy was looking at him._ _

__He almost poked his eye out trying to put the damn stuff on, though._ _

__“I got it all crooked,” he complained, returning from the bathroom and walking over to where Billy was reclining in a chair and sipping a beer. “And I probably put too much on. But I think it would be worse if I tried to wash it off.”_ _

__Billy looked at him. A long look, traveling up Steve’s legs and chest, catching on his mouth for a second, and then zeroing in on his eyes. “There’s my pretty boy,” he said, and he smiled, hungry._ _

__Steve blushed again, dammit, and then made himself remember that he used to be seriously cool about this sort of shit, always a suave reply on his tongue._ _

__That’s right. He could give back as good as he got. So he walked closer to Billy, stood in between his spread legs, enjoyed the way Billy’s eyes widened as he leaned over and propped his arms on the chair, looking down. “I seem to remember someone boasting about their moves on the dance floor,” he said. “You gonna put your money where your mouth is?”_ _

__Billy narrowed his eyes. “You better believe it, baby.”_ _

__*_ _

__The club was loud and crowded, and Steve was three drinks in before he quite realized it. He saw two girls kissing, and yes, there were indeed guys dancing together, pressed close. The lights spun, giddy in the darkness. The music shook the floor. It had been ages since he’d been at a club, and he was still riding the relief of knowing that Billy wanted him to stay, that Billy was into him. He felt fizzy, like a bottle of champagne that had just had its cork popped. Bouncy and kind of reckless, bubbles and foam spilling up and over._ _

__He wasn’t the best dancer, but he flung himself out there, raising his arms, nudging a girl in a sequined top. But then Billy was there, and he hadn’t been boasting for no reason, he really _could_ dance, and Steve’s mouth went dry, and he maybe kind of just stopped for a few seconds and stared. Billy saw and grinned, feral, and that wild feeling surged, and Steve danced closer with a laugh, slid in and out of Billy’s space. _ _

__The crowd split them apart, and the drinks were going to his head because he stumbled, dizzy, but then a pair of arms slid around him from behind and kept him from falling._ _

__“Got you,” Billy said._ _

__He laughed and fell back into Billy’s chest, let Billy take more of his weight. Billy was a solid wall of warm muscle, and Steve rubbed against him, felt Billy’s belt buckle through the seat of his jeans._ _

__“Jesus.” Billy tightened his grip. “What worked you up, pretty boy?”_ _

__Steve just laughed again. “You’re the king of the dance floor, remember?”_ _

__Billy hummed, smug. He worked a hand under the vest, walked his fingers across Steve’s stomach, and then slid them around to skim his ass._ _

__A girl giggled next to them—not _at_ them, but it brought Steve back to himself a little. No one cared, he told himself. No one cared. But it felt like too much all of a sudden, and he pulled away from Billy, turned to find that Billy’s cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes too bright. _ _

__“Wanna watch you dance,” he said, because he didn’t want Billy to think he was rejecting him, but he couldn’t stay there and let Billy ply him with lustful touches in the midst of the crowd, all those people looking at them. So he went and got another drink, sitting on a stool at the bar and watching Billy sway his body to the music. But the fizziness from earlier had turned flat. He started remembering high school parties when he’d been popular, remembered Nancy. And maybe Billy was starting over, but how could he do the same? How could he when a big part of him wanted to go back—go back to when his life had been comfortable and safe and fun._ _

__“Think you’ve had enough, baby,” Billy was saying suddenly, and Steve blinked, let Billy take away the empty glass. Time had passed; he didn’t know how long._ _

__Clumsy, he reached out and twined his fingers into the necklace Billy always wore. Billy allowed it, just leaned down a little and put one hand on the bar to steady himself._ _

__He didn’t like this. Didn’t like this up and down, emotional rollercoaster he was stuck in, happy one second, sad the next. Didn’t like hurtling down, not knowing what was at the bottom, afraid it would only get worse. He wanted it to stop. And Billy was here, sweaty and sexy, and into him. Billy could make it feel better. Billy could make it stop for a few hours. Billy wanted to help him._ _

__“Will you kiss me?” he asked Billy. “Will you kiss me when we get back to the hotel?”_ _

__Billy’s hand on his face, cupping his jaw, thumb moving over Steve’s cheek. “Yeah. If that’s what you want.” His voice was low, rough._ _

__Steve nodded. “You too?”_ _

__“Me too,” Billy replied, and he smiled, a beautiful, sweet smile that Steve hadn’t seen before but that made his heart ache._ _

__The walk back in the cold air sobered him up a little, as did the fact that Billy stopped touching him, kept a careful distance between them. But as soon as the door shut behind them, Billy was on him, eager, pushing him up against the wall and claiming his mouth in a kiss._ _

__Steve was breathing hard by the time Billy released him, staying upright only by virtue of the wall at his back. Billy dipped his head and started mouthing at his neck—a hint of teeth, his stubble scraping Steve’s sensitive skin. Steve moaned. Fuck, it felt amazing. He clawed at Billy’s back through his leather jacket, and Billy paused long enough to shrug it off before latching on to Steve’s neck again while Steve rucked up Billy’s shirt and got his hands on warm skin, tracing the dip of Billy’s spine down to the edge of his jeans._ _

__“You’re making the prettiest noises, baby, fuck,” Billy breathed, and of course Steve was making _noises_ , God knew how many hickies Billy had just left on his neck. _ _

__“Got me hard,” Billy added, like a confession, and he looked down their bodies, and then pushed them together, almost tentative. “This okay?”_ _

__“Yeah. Yeah, Billy,” he panted. “You can touch. Please.”_ _

__Billy’s fingers grazed Steve’s jeans where his hard cock strained against the material. And then he paused. “Want to jerk us off together.”_ _

__“Okay. Yes—that—that sounds fantastic.” Why was Billy being so hesitant _now_? Fuck, he wanted that happy, fizzy feeling back, wanted the rush of an orgasm, wanted more kisses. “ _Billy_.”_ _

__And finally Billy pulled down his zipper, worked Steve’s jeans and briefs down his hips a ways, and wrapped his hand around Steve’s cock, stroking lightly. “That good?” And then, on a soft laugh, “Those _sounds_ you make, baby.”_ _

__And maybe he should be embarrassed, but Billy sounded delighted, and so he pawed at Billy’s belt buckle instead. Billy got the hint, and his hand left Steve’s cock, which was _horrible_ , but then—oh, yes—Billy’s cock was sliding against his, and Billy’s hand was around both of them. Steve worked his fingers into Billy’s curly hair and yanked him in for a kiss, breathed his arousal into Billy’s mouth, licked and sucked until he hit his peak and had to jerk his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. _ _

__Billy came a few seconds later, and he hid his face against Steve’s neck, his breathing gradually becoming calmer. Steve kept his hand on Billy’s hair, smoothing it, soothing._ _

__At last, Billy drew back with a groan. Steve swayed, still kind of drunk. He hiccupped and looked down at himself. “Fuck. We got jizz all over my fucking shirt.”_ _

__Billy snorted a laugh. Kissed the side of Steve’s mouth._ _

__The kiss tugged Steve’s lips into a smile—it grew bigger—he couldn’t help it, fizzy again. He wobbled to the bed, collapsed on it, laughed as Billy tugged off his pink high tops and then laughed harder when he tried to pull Steve’s jeans off the rest of the way but only succeeded in practically yanking Steve off the bed._ _

__They managed to get undressed at last, and he got to watch Billy climb into bed beside him, miles of naked skin lit by the lamplight. Billy’s arms curled around him, held him against his chest. It was good. A balm on that sore, aching place in his heart. So good that he had to choke back threatening tears. Not now. None of that shit now. Only this. Warm skin, the gust of Billy’s breath on his shoulder, the muted noise of traffic outside. Only this._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gloves are off now with the pet names. And yeah, I admit a lot of that was to find an excuse for Steve to wear eyeliner.


	5. Chapter 5

They had neglected to shut the curtain all the way, and Billy woke to sunlight shining in his eyes. He squinted, groaned, turned over, and found himself face-to-face with Steve, who was still asleep. 

Oh. That had happened, hadn’t it? He’d taken his pretty boy to bed, had kissed him, listened to him moan his name, and now had gotten to wake up beside him, close enough to touch and kiss again.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face, couldn’t help how his legs slid against Steve’s or stop from putting his arm around Steve’s waist and gathering him that much closer. Steve looked—rather the worse for wear, honestly, his eyeliner (and hadn’t _that_ been one of Billy’s better ideas) smudged and his hair a mess—but to Billy, in that moment, nothing could have been better, and he started pressing little kisses to Steve’s mouth and jaw, coaxing him into wakefulness. 

Brown eyes blinked away sleep, and Steve scrunched his nose. “Billy?” he mumbled, and then moaned, opening his mouth to the offered kisses, letting Billy roll him onto his back. 

“Morning, baby,” Billy said in between kisses.  
.  
“My head is killing me,” Steve said plaintively. “I feel sick.”

Billy moved down to Steve’s neck, drawn to the marks he’d put there the night before. “That’s what happens when you drink a lot.”

“My point is what are you going to do about it?” Steve whined and then twitched and gasped as Billy laved his tongue over a bruise and nipped his skin lightly. 

This was too fun. So many boys he’d looked at over the years and imagined what it would be like to have them in bed, and now it was _happening_ , and Steve was so fucking responsive, and he wanted to explore every inch of him, take him apart and _maybe_ put him back together again. He leaned on his right elbow and rubbed his left hand over Steve’s chest, thumbed one of his nipples, which hardened obediently, perfect for him to lick and suck, which he did.

“Oh, God!” Steve yelped. “Billy, wh-what are you…?”

“Does this get you hard?” Billy asked, diligently applying his attentions to Steve’s nipples, getting them wet, blowing on them, trying a little pinch. 

“Stop, stop!” Steve gasped, and he scrambled into a sitting position, pushing away from Billy and jamming up against the headboard. He yanked the sheet with him, covering himself. 

“Baby,” Billy pouted, left behind. 

“Oh my God. I’m hungover and you’re—you’re—; I just woke up, Billy, fuck.” 

“I’ll suck you off,” Billy offered. “Let me suck you off, baby, please.”

Steve stared at him. “Oh my God,” he repeated. “No. Go get me some water and Tylenol and breakfast. And then _maybe_ I’ll let you.” 

“Oh is that how it is?” He sat up, grinning, not trying to hide how playing with Steve’s nipples had affected his cock. “You gonna act like a princess? So demanding.” 

Steve tore his eyes off Billy’s cock, blushing, and yanked the sheets higher. “I told you, I feel sick.”

Billy laughed and got off the bed. “I get the message, princess. And I’ve got you. You just sit tight. But later—later, you’re gonna make it up to me, yeah? Gonna let me do what I want.”

“Maybe,” Steve muttered again, the color still high in his cheeks. 

Billy decided right then and there that they were going to order room service because he wasn’t letting Steve out of that bed until he’d gotten his mouth on Steve’s cock. He’d never ordered room service before, and it felt decadent—special—new, just like all of this. 

As requested, he brought Steve water and Tylenol, and then read the room service menu aloud to him while Steve sulked in a nest of sheets and pillows. 

“You want pancakes, baby? Or waffles? Definitely some eggs and bacon.”

Steve sighed, like this was the hardest choice ever, like Billy was being so mean to him, making him decide such things after he’d only just woken up. “Pancakes. And coffee. Cream, no sugar. And scrambled eggs only. Not over-easy or poached. Hate that shit.”

In other circumstances, Billy might have gotten annoyed with Steve for being sulky and uncooperative and picky when he wanted to enjoy some sex and a pleasant breakfast. But he was finding Steve’s behavior—well, fucking adorable, if he was honest with himself. Maybe it was because he got the feeling he was getting to see another piece of Steve, a piece that had been hidden behind the anxiety and depression. And it made sense, that Steve, the rich pretty boy, would act entitled and bitchy until he got his way. So yeah, Billy could spoil him a little, give him the royal treatment. And at the end of it, he’d have Steve melting under him, pliant and pleasured. 

Steve started to unthaw halfway through his stack of pancakes, which he had drenched in syrup. He kept dipping his eggs in the syrup puddles too. 

“Take it easy on the sugar, baby. You’ll never sit still, once we get in the car,” Billy told him. 

Steve poured on _more_ syrup, just to be a brat, but then he leaned over, letting his shoulder nudge against Billy, who was sitting next to him in the bed. Billy had put on a pair of sweats so he didn’t shock the dude who brought up breakfast, but Steve was still naked, and the sheet had pooled deliciously low around his waist.

Billy kissed the side of Steve’s head, right by his ear, and Steve scrunched his nose again. Yeah—that was it. He was ready to get this show on the road.

Swinging his legs around, he straddled Steve’s thighs in one smooth motion. Steve squawked and held his plate up higher. “Still eating here!” he protested. 

“Don’t mind me,” Billy purred, spreading his hands across Steve’s ribs. He leaned down and tongued one of Steve’s nipples, picking up where he had left off. 

“If I get syrup in your hair, don’t blame me,” Steve warned, his voice wavering. 

“Worth the risk.” He started moving his mouth down Steve’s abs, nipping and kissing. A few seconds later, he heard the clatter of the plate on the bedside table and grinned. 

Steve’s hands settled on his head, gentle, tentative, and Billy hummed to let him know it was okay. Steve spread his legs wider, and Billy twitched the sheet aside. Steve’s cock was definitely taking an interest in the proceedings. Billy curled his hand around the base, gave it a few pumps, reminded himself that he’d had girls go down on him before, that he knew the basics of a blow job. Still, he felt kind of dizzy from lust and nerves. Carefully, he took the tip in his mouth and rubbed his tongue on the head.

“Shit that’s good,” Steve groaned from above him. “Jesus, you look hot, Billy—fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.”

Of course he looked hot, but it didn’t hurt to hear Steve say so. Not at all. Could listen to that kind of shit for hours. Hours. He took a little more of Steve’s cock, had to put one hand on Steve’s hip when he started unconsciously thrusting. 

“Sorry, sorry. Can’t help it. Not gonna last.” Steve’s voice was heavy with arousal, his fingers threading into Billy’s curls as Billy got into a rhythm. 

He tried taking Steve’s cock deeper—and then abruptly it was _too_ deep, and he was choking and pulling off, eyes watering. But it was okay because Steve was petting his hair, murmuring, “Billy, _please_ , so close,” and not laughing, not embarrassing him. He could take a deep breath, suck gently on the tip again, and tease Steve’s balls with his fingers. 

It wasn’t until the first spurt of come hit his tongue that he realized they forgot to use a condom, and then was too busy trying to swallow it to care. Thick, messy, and not the world’s best taste, but there was something about having his mouth filled, about the way Steve’s cock twitched on his tongue, that was fucking _amazing_ , and shit, he was hard, rutting on the bed, shoving a hand down his sweats, jerking himself quick until he spent too. 

He rested his head on Steve’s thigh. Leaned over to lick his softening cock, just because he could, and it made Steve whimper and jolt. And then he had to clamber up Steve’s body, find his mouth and kiss him, wished he hadn’t swallowed so that he could have fed Steve some of his own come and swirled their tongues in it, making Steve taste how good Billy had made him feel. 

“Fuck,” Steve said weakly, staring up at the ceiling. “Are you always like this in the morning?”

“Don’t know,” Billy admitted. “Never had a pretty boy like you to wake up with before.” 

“You don’t have to call me that,” Steve said, although he didn’t really sound annoyed, and when Billy replied, “Just calling it like I see it, baby,” Steve couldn’t keep from smiling and going kind of shy. 

They made it out of the hotel just before the eleven a.m. deadline, showered and shaved and mostly put together, although Billy had to shove his come-stained sweats into the deep corner of his duffel to be dealt with at a later date.

Billy’s good mood fractured slightly when they stopped at a gas station, and Steve started smiling at the girl behind the cash register and making her giggle by asking her to help him choose between a Milky Way and a package of powdered doughnuts. 

“Just buy the damn candy bar,” he said, snatching the doughnuts from Steve and putting them back on the rack. “I’m not letting you get powdered sugar all over my car seats.”

“I was just being friendly to her, Billy, jeez,” Steve said as they settled in the car again. 

Billy shook his head but didn’t press the issue, let it go and pulled out his road map instead, handing it to Steve. “Tell me how to get to the Grand Canyon from here,” he requested.

“The Grand Canyon? That’s where we’re headed next? I thought you didn’t want any detours.”

“I’ve always wanted to see it,” Billy replied, as he merged back into traffic. “It’s been on my list. Not like that dumb ball of twine.”

“It wasn’t a dumb ball of twine. It was _kitschy_. An _experience_.” Steve huffed and opened the map, spreading it over his legs. “I’d have thought you’d want to go to Las Vegas, out of all the stops between here and California.”

“Nah. I don’t have the money for Vegas.” That was true, but not the whole truth. Even if he’d had a lot of money, he’d still have picked the Grand Canyon. 

It sounded like the ocean to him. Huge, vast, impossible to wrap your mind around the sheer scale of it. Everything he’d done in his life—everything he would do—all shrinking to insignificance in comparison. He imagined it would be easy to breathe freely there, standing on the rim of the canyon, the sky wide above you. 

Couldn’t say shit like that to Steve, though. Not yet, anyway. So he told Steve to grab one of the tapes from the glovebox, pick some music for the drive, and turned his attention to the road winding up toward the mountains, heading west, pushing his foot on the gas, anxious again to get there. 

*

It had been sunny when they left Denver, but in the afternoon clouds started rolling in, dark grey, sending the temperature plummeting. Up here in the mountains, all the aspens had lost their leaves, and they stood pale and white against the pines. Started feeling like winter, and by chance a brown Chevy passed by on the opposite side of the road. It was the same kind of car his dad drove, and suddenly Billy was back in Ohio, standing in the driveway on a late afternoon in January, shadows long and cold, snow piled in a heap behind him, but his dad was pissed because he should have had it all shoveled that morning, _what the fuck were you wasting your time doing, Billy? Driveway is all icy—you want Susan to fall? Didn’t I teach you about responsibility? Didn’t I?_

Yes. Yes. You had to say yes. Had to. 

He fumbled for his cigarettes with one hand. And then warm fingers touched his, and he startled. Had forgotten, for a second, that Steve was there. 

Steve held the lighter for him too, tapped his foot on the floorboards in time with the music, hummed a little. 

“Think it’s gonna snow,” he said, and he sounded excited, like a kid. 

Billy took a long drag on his cigarette. Blew out the smoke and settled in his seat. Glanced over at Steve. Maybe smiled a little because yeah, it was better, like this. 

And when it did start to snow, white flakes spiraling down and melting on the windshield, Steve insisted they stop, and Billy didn’t fuss, didn’t point out what a dumb idea that was because it was _snowing_ , just found a place to pull over and followed Steve out into the chilly air. He leaned against the hood, watched as Steve tilted his head up to the sky. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Steve said. “So quiet. I remember….” He paused, gathered himself. “I remember once, I think I was six or seven, and I was home, and my mom was there, the day we had the first snowfall of the year. She rushed me outside to catch snowflakes on our tongues. And later she made me hot cocoa. I’ve always liked the first snow, ‘cause of that.”

Billy took another drag on his cigarette, held up his arm to look at the snowflakes collecting on the sleeve of his jacket, and wondered how, if Steve loved the snow so much, he was going to be able to keep him happy on a beach in California. 

Then he caught up to his thoughts and went cold. A different cold from the wintry air he was standing in, which was white and crisp. This cold was heavy. Dark. 

How he would keep Steve _happy_ on a beach in _California_? Fuck. That meant he was thinking about keeping _Steve_. Asking him to stay. That meant he was starting to fall in love with him a bit, didn’t it? Probably. Billy had never been in love, only had puppy-dog crushes that he had to keep hidden. 

That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Sex? Sure. That was good—better than good. Helping Steve? Yes. That was important—he needed to do it. But loving him? Asking him to _stay_? This random boy he’d picked up outside a shitty bar in Indiana? 

The snow was stopping, leaving a light dusting on the ground. Flakes stuck in Steve’s dark hair, until he shook his head, scattering them. He knocked his pink high tops against a wheel, kicking off snow. 

Billy finished his cigarette. Ground it out under the toe of his boot. “Come on. Let’s get back on the road.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled at him, cheeks pink, happy. 

In the car, Billy turned on the heater when Steve started blowing on his numb fingers. He listened to Steve rattle on about his favorite band and their new album that was coming out in a few months. Tried to tune out the thrum of panic that had him reaching for another cigarette. Tried to think about the sunny beach he was driving toward and not grey days, and snow, and what he might want from the boy sitting next to him. 

*

After such a late start, they only made it just past the Utah border before Billy decided to call it quits for the day. He’d been on edge and wanted to find a bar, have a few beers, try and relax. So they stopped in Green River, got a motel room, and unloaded their stuff. The man at the reception desk recommended a place that had decent food, drinks, and music, a little ways up the road. 

“Let’s walk and stretch our legs,” Steve suggested. He shoved his hands in his pockets, shivering a little. Billy thought about offering his heavier leather coat. Didn’t. Just followed Steve up the sidewalk, a step or two behind. 

The bar was mediocre, the hamburgers they ordered slightly better. Steve clinked his beer bottle against Billy’s. “Here’s to a couple hundred miles closer to our destination.” 

“Yeah.” Billy took a swig, wondered what that was, really. Their destination. What did that look like? Dropping Steve off on a street corner in San Diego and waving goodbye? Sitting on a beach together, watching the tide roll out? Looking through the newspaper for help-wanted ads and apartments for rent with Steve leaning on his shoulder, pointing to likely possibilities? 

“Aren’t you going to finish that?” Steve asked, interrupting his thoughts and pointing at the half-eaten hamburger on his plate.

“Not that hungry.” He drank some more beer, looked around the room. “Think I’ll go give the pool table a shot.” 

“Okay.” Steve sounded a little worried—concerned, maybe, at Billy’s curt responses. His eyes tracked Billy as he stood and went to the bar for another beer, then joined the crowd clustered around the pool table. Billy didn’t look back at him, but he could feel Steve’s attention, tugging, clamoring for recognition. 

“I haven’t seen you here before,” a voice said next to him, and he turned to find a woman standing there. She smiled, flirty, and took a step closer. 

And oh, he knew this. Knew exactly how to play it. “Just passin’ through,” he replied. “Didn’t expect to find such pretty scenery.”

She giggled. “That was awful.”

He shrugged. “I don’t practice pick-up lines as a rule. Don’t usually need them.” 

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “My name’s Tracy, by the way.”

“Billy. You all by your lonesome tonight, Tracy?”

“Yeah.” She heaved a sigh. “I came with a friend, but she ditched me for some guy.” 

“Maybe you should repay the favor.” He slid an arm around her shoulders. “Let me get you a drink.”

They were half-way toward the bar, when a hand clamped on Billy’s arm, jerking him to a stop. He knew who it was—knew he’d turn and find Steve there, looking pissed. And yep—yep, he’d pegged it. Fuck—just what he did _not_ want to deal with right now.

“What are you doing?” Steve demanded, glancing at Tracy and then back to Billy. 

Billy shook off Steve’s hand. “Buying her a drink.” 

“And I repeat, ‘what the _fuck_ are you doing’?”

Tracy was looking increasingly confused and nervous. And Billy could tell this was going to devolve into an argument, and he couldn’t let that happen in the middle of a crowded bar. Because he knew exactly what Steve was going to say, would blurt out without a thought for who might be listening. 

“Sorry, Tracy,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “I’ll have to give you a raincheck on that drink. Need to talk to my friend outside for a second.”

“Um, okay,” she said and started to edge away, probably coming to the decision that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him after all.

Billy met Steve’s eyes for a second—and they were snapping, angry, like the bite of static electricity—and then shoved past him and walked out the door. He paced to the end of the parking lot, Steve’s footsteps following, and then stopped, turned around, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, out with it.” 

Steve scoffed. “What do you need me to say? I just want to know what the fuck you thought you were doing in there.”

“I was flirting with that chick.”

“But _why_?”

“Because that’s what you do in bars, moron.” Billy rolled his eyes and fished out his cigarettes. 

Steve shook his head and held up a finger to enunciate his points. “No, that’s what straight guys do in bars. Not a guy who had my dick down his throat this morning.”

Billy didn’t deign to reply to that nonsense, just took a drag and stared stonily at the cars passing on the street.

“You were leading her on, Billy,” Steve continued, exasperated. “That’s not fair. And I was sitting right there you know. Watching. Me—the guy who’s dick you sucked. The guy you kissed.”

Jesus. “You are so fucking naïve. Don’t you get it? I was playing a part. So that all those assholes in there didn’t clue into the fact that yeah, I am gay and decide to take me out back and beat the shit out of me.” 

Steve threw up his hands, like this was just too much, like Billy was being the unreasonable one. “I’m not saying you had to kiss me right in front of them. But you didn’t have to pick up a girl either. I was sitting _right there_ , Billy, watching you put your arm around her.”

“Awww, are you jealous, baby?” he retorted. 

Steve stabbed his finger at him. “Don’t give me that shit. You’re the one who was all pissed this morning when I smiled at that girl in the gas station.”

“Whatever. I didn’t throw a tantrum in the parking lot, did I? Not like some people.” He flicked away his cigarette butt and started walking back toward the motel. There went his plans for a nice, relaxing evening. 

“Oh, fuck you!” Steve yelled after him.

Billy threw him the middle finger over his shoulder and didn’t turn around. 

Steve did follow after a few seconds, though, as he didn’t have anywhere else to go. Otherwise, Billy had no doubt he’d be going there. Back in their motel room, Steve slammed into the bathroom and soon the shower started running. Billy stood there a moment, staring at the bathroom door, and then went back outside. He wandered over to the other side of the building and sat on the edge of the sidewalk, smoking another cigarette.

Okay. So maybe it had been kind of a dick move on Billy’s part in the bar. He’d acted without thinking, really. He’d spent years flirting and fucking girls. Never had to worry about hurting another boy’s feelings. 

And he didn’t want to have to worry about that. This was exactly the kind of thing that being in a… a _relationship_ with Steve would bring. And clearly Billy was shit at it. Maybe in a couple of years he’d be ready for something more permanent, but not now. One-night stands with cute guys, going their separate ways the next day—that’s what he wanted. Nothing dragging him down, just the surf and the sun, sex and the kind of freedom he’d been dreaming about for so long. 

So, he’d go back and apologize to Steve. A sincere apology. Hopefully Steve would unthaw enough for some kissing and allow Billy to sleep in his bed again. Tomorrow they’d have a fun day, maybe some more sex. And the next day, they would reach their destination. 

Billy knew what that looked like now. He’d take Steve to see the ocean, give him one last kiss there on the beach. He’d go introduce him to a guy Billy had been friends with, who rented bicycles and surfboards and stuff to tourists, see if he could offer Steve a temp job. He’d give Steve some money—enough to last a few days, until he got settled. And then they’d part ways. Billy would say that he’d check in on Steve now and again, but he wouldn’t really mean it, and Steve would know—maybe he’d be a little sad, but he’d hide it, and anyway, his pretty boy was too sweet to be without a lover for long. He’d find someone else.

And Billy would drive away, pump up the volume on the radio and open the window, let his fingers trail outside to feel the breeze. He’d drive away with the memories of their trip safe inside his mind. They would be good memories too, of a person he helped, of the first boy he kissed. He wanted to keep them good—needed to have good memories, to make up for all the bad ones. 

And if there was a little bit of regret… well, Billy was good at living with regret. He’d had a lot of practice, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

For all the vacations Steve had been on with his parents, they’d never made it to the Grand Canyon. And it _was_ magnificent—the formations of striated rock, the river far below, the wide vistas. But if he had to be honest, he was paying more attention to Billy than the scenery. 

A tension in Billy—something so ingrained that you wouldn’t notice it until it was gone—had unwound as soon as they stepped up to the edge of the rim and looked out at the canyon. Billy was leaning his elbows on the metal railing now, his eyes faraway, the faint edge of a smile lifting his mouth. 

He’d been so relieved last night when Billy apologized, hadn’t wanted to spend the day still fighting. Not when they only had a short time left together. 

These past few days had been the best he’d had in a long time. Not perfect—he and Billy couldn’t seem to go a day without getting in an argument, and they’d had kind of a rocky start. But the past two days, sitting in the passenger seat of the Camaro, he’d felt… safe. Billy was there next to him, and if he needed to, he could reach out, just to touch, to reassure himself that he wasn’t alone. He could say something, and Billy would look at him, expression gentling, blue eyes becoming warmer. And when Billy kissed him, he felt… wanted. 

It seemed like forever since he’d felt safe and wanted. 

So he needed to enjoy it, while he could. Because he couldn’t expect that this friendship, this attraction between them would continue when they arrived in California. Billy had plans, and Steve had done enough to disrupt them already. Steve needed to get his act together, take the help Billy had offered and make sure it didn’t go to waste. He wasn’t going to end up on the street again. He was going to cling to this fucking cliff with his fingertips, drag himself up to the top. 

So what if he’d never done that before? Never done it when it mattered, anyway, when he wasn’t riding his dad’s money. So what if when he started to think too hard about the days and weeks after tomorrow he felt sick and terrified?

It wasn’t tomorrow. Not yet. He didn’t have to think about it yet. He could think about Billy instead, could watch him, learn the curve of his mouth and the set of his shoulders, listen to the timbre of his voice, so that he’d have them embedded in his mind, for after.

“Some view, huh?” he said, leaning on the railing next to Billy. 

Billy nodded and took a deep breath. “Think how long it took the river to carve that canyon. We’re just little blips on the screen in comparison. Blink and you miss us.”

“Didn’t realize you were so philosophical.”

“Sometimes. When I’m in a place like this.” 

Billy surprised him again by wanting to go the visitor center and spending a long time reading the exhibits on geology and history. He seemed so out of place, in his leather jacket and long hair, but he was intent, curious, pointing out especially interesting facts now and then. 

“Are you sure you aren’t planning on becoming a geologist?” Steve half-joked as Billy went on about igneous and metamorphic rocks. 

“No,” Billy said, quick, but then he paused, glanced at Steve, and then back at the display explaining the uplift of the Colorado Plateau. “Or… maybe. I don’t know.”

“It would be cool if you did.” He jostled Billy’s shoulder. “I can see you out there in the wilderness, hunting for awesome rocks.”

“‘Awesome rocks’?” Billy repeated, a little scathing, but he was smiling as he returned his attention to the exhibit. 

Steve lasted another few minutes and then wandered off to the gift shop. He poked through the array of t-shirts, the stuffed animals, and then found himself at several bins of inexpensive rocks. Many were polished and clacked together as he sifted through them. A smaller bin had rough, unpolished stones, which a label denoted as “fluorite.” He reached in and picked out a chunk with a purplish-green color that appealed to him. 

A quick glance showed that Billy was still absorbed in the museum, so he hurried over to the cash register, pulling out one of the crumpled five-dollar bills that Billy had given him. Buying a gift for Billy as a ‘thank you’ wasn’t the same as trying to return the money. After he paid, he stuffed the fluorite in his pocket. He’d save it to give to Billy tomorrow. Tomorrow, before they said goodbye.

No. Not thinking about that now. There was just now. Here. Today. He returned to Billy and huffed and sighed and scuffed his shoes on the carpet until Billy relented and shoved Steve ahead of him as they went back outside, complaining that Steve had the attention span of a kindergartner. 

“Yeah, but it’s such a nice day. Let’s go look at the rocks, not just read about them.” 

“If you’ll stop behaving like a brat,” Billy chided, and then he grinned, wicked, a little mean. “Guess you need to work off some of that energy.”

By this, Billy meant dragging him down a trail that dipped into the canyon—and then, after about twenty minutes of hiking, having to climb back _up_ again. 

“Jesus, this is steep,” Steve panted, pausing for a moment to try and catch his breath. 

“Aww, is it too difficult?” Billy mocked, smirking and only breathing slightly hard, the jerk. “You’re the one who wanted to come and see the rocks in person, remember?”

Steve flipped him off, deciding to save his breath for climbing instead of yelling. When they finally reached the top again, he collapsed on a bench and made Billy go find him a drink of water. 

They left the park a short while later, headed back to the main highway. Billy lit a cigarette, turned on the radio, and popped a button on his shirt, back to his usual self. But Steve had seen another side of him now, another facet of Billy’s nature. And he was hungry—hungry for more. So he peppered Billy with questions. _Favorite movie, tell me about the craziest thing you ever did, summer jobs—should have known you’d be a lifeguard so you could go around shirtless, jesus—best ice cream flavor…._

Billy answered or didn’t answer as the spirit moved him, until he finally got sick of it and turned the radio up really loud. 

Steve tried talking over it for a second, then gave up and settled back in his seat. He watched the dry, rocky landscape stream by outside the window, turning the things he’d learned about Billy over in his mind, a miser counting his gold. 

*

They stopped at a rest area for a late lunch, which consisted of Cheetos, potato chips, and candy bars from the vending machines. An empty Pepsi can was lying on the ground by their picnic table, and Steve started kicking it around, aiming for a space between two bushes. He’d almost got it through and then Billy was there, knocking it away, going for the goal himself. Steve intercepted, and Billy shoved into him, pushing him backwards.

“Plant your feet, baby,” he said, grinning, and oh, it was _on_. 

Ten minutes later they were both sweaty and out of breath. Billy flopped down in a patch of half-dead grass, and Steve bent over, hands on his knees. Billy’s shirt had ridden up, exposing a strip of skin, and Steve’s mouth went dry. Well, dryer. He could already use a drink and now—now he was even thirstier with want. Hungry and thirsty for more of Billy. Greedy. 

He’d been greedy before, wanting things he shouldn’t have, and it had always ended badly. Nancy. Jason. But this was different. This was five days on the road, and then boom, done. The end was already in sight, so how much damage could he do? And Billy wanted him—wanted his body, anyway, which was all that mattered. Billy would let him slake his thirst, sate his hunger. 

In the car, before Billy could start the engine, Steve leaned over the space between them, bent so he could reach Billy’s mouth with his own. Billy made a muffled noise of surprise, but then kissed back, one hand coming up to cradle Steve’s head and draw him close. 

“What was that?” Billy asked as Steve drew away, sat in his seat, and buckled his seatbelt. 

“An appetizer. I’m going to want more tonight,” he replied and watched, smug, as Billy swallowed and had to try twice before he got the key in the ignition. Billy wasn’t the only one who could play this game.

Billy stopped for the day in a town a few miles before the California border. They could have made it over the state line, but he got the feeling Billy wanted to wait, like once he crossed over, he wouldn’t want to stop until he hit the ocean. 

So they found a motel for the night and went to dinner at a little local restaurant. “We need to have some vegetables. Or fruit,” Steve said. “We’ve been living on hamburgers and candy and chips. Probably get scurvy.”

Billy gave Steve a look over the top of his menu. “You can’t get scurvy in four days.” 

“How do you know? Are you a doctor? Did you get your MD between here and Utah? Maybe all our hair will fall out or something.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Billy tossed his menu onto the table and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He ordered a shot of Jack Daniels when the waitress came to take their order.

“Don’t drink too much,” Steve said after she had left. “Otherwise you won’t be any good to me later.”

“It’d take more than a whisky and a few beers to make me useless in _that_ way.” Billy let his chair thump back on the floor. “And what’s with you tonight?”

Steve shrugged, let himself stare at Billy’s biceps, at the open collar of his shirt.

“See? Fucking horny.” But Billy preened under his gaze, tossed back his shot when it arrived, inched forward in his chair and knocked his foot against Steve’s. 

Steve let himself sink into the simmering arousal, suddenly not so hungry for food. He pushed around his mashed potatoes, ate a few bites of meat loaf, poked at the pile of peas. 

“Eat those up, baby,” Billy said, spearing a green bean on his own plate pointedly. “Gotta keep you healthy. Make sure you get your vegetables.” 

Regretting his earlier comments, he ate some of the peas, hid some more under the mashed potatoes when Billy wasn’t looking. 

Billy scraped his plate clean, and then laid down his knife and fork. Clack, clack against the china. He looked at Steve and made sure he was looking back. “You want your dessert here? Or back in the motel?”

Steve put his fork carefully down too. “The motel, please.”

“So polite when you want something,” Billy mocked, but his eyes were intent, a sharp blue, and he called the waitress over for their check. 

In their motel room, Steve slid the deadbolt in place and then got behind Billy, who was toeing off his boots. He slid his arms around Billy’s chest, pressed himself against him, and rubbed his nose against the nape of Billy’s neck. 

“You a cat now?” Billy said, relaxing into him. 

“Mmmm. I’m gonna take a shower first. You have lube, right? And condoms?”

Billy tensed a little. “Yeah.” He took a breath, as though to say something else, but then remained silent. 

Steve smacked a kiss on the side of his neck. “Be right back.”

He shucked off his clothes on the way to the bathroom, shoes and jacket tumbled in a corner, shirt on a chair, pants hanging half off it, only his briefs and socks still on when he reached the yellowed tile floor. He didn’t look behind him at Billy, but kept moving, single-minded in his craving. 

The water stung hot on his shoulders in the shower. He lathered up with the cheap motel soap, making sure to scrub under his armpits, around his balls and pubic hair. Then he turned the handle to the ‘cold’ side a little, cooled it down, and braced himself on the wall with one arm, reaching back with his other hand to spread his buttocks. It made sense, that you’d want to be clean, even though he didn’t have any actual experience, was running purely on jokes and insults and speculation. When he was done, he stepped out and gave his hair a quick rub down with a towel, but it was still dripping onto his shoulders when he emerged in a cloud of steam, keeping another towel slung around his waist. 

Billy was sitting up in one of the beds, watching TV, but he flicked it off as soon as he saw Steve. He was still in his underwear and a t-shirt. 

Steve walked straight to him, damp feet leaving dark impressions on the carpet. 

“Whoa, baby, hey,” Billy murmured, startled, when Steve climbed into his lap, straddling him, and pinned Billy’s shoulders against the headboard. 

“I want you to fuck me.” He said it plain, didn’t dance around it, because his thoughts were a humming blur, kind of distant, no nerves or anxiety. There was just here. Now. Boom. Done. 

Billy raised his eyebrows. He’d put his hands on Steve’s thighs, edging them up under the towel. Now he licked his lips, and then smiled. “You’re the answer to my prayers. Been wanting to get my cock in you since that first night.” 

Billy’s smile was maybe a little too bright, a little hard-edged, but Steve wasn’t paying attention. His mind had gone at those words— _first night_ —gone to where he was on his knees, cheek stinging, following Billy into his car in a kind of hopeless panic. No, no, _no_. There was just here. The last night. Their last night. 

He kissed Billy, sinking into that blur again. Rolled his hips, rubbing his cock on the soft cotton of Billy’s underwear, getting hard. 

Billy’s hands slipped around his hips, cupped his ass and squeezed. Steve moaned into his mouth, pawed at Billy’s t-shirt, wanting it off. But Billy didn’t move, kept his hands where they were, kept kissing him. Frustrated, Steve moved his hips faster, and it proved too much for the towel, which fell off, leaving him bare. 

“So hard already,” Billy said, breaking the kiss to look down at his cock. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the lube, then squirted some into his palm. Gently, he closed his hand around Steve’s cock, started stroking, firm. 

Steve bit his lip, shut his eyes at the sensation. But at this rate he would come in the next thirty seconds. “Stop teasing, Billy,” he whined. “I want you to fuck me. I said so.” 

“I know, baby. Jesus.” Billy sounded kind of annoyed, but before Steve could get a good look at his expression, Billy had pulled back to strip off his t-shirt. And then his arms went around Steve, and he was flipping them, rolling them over so Steve was now lying flat on the bed under him. 

“There,” Billy said. “Now turn over and spread those legs, if you want it so bad.”

Steve’s breath hitched, but he did as Billy said. He dug his toes into the mattress. No touches came, the heat of Billy’s body remained absent, and he started to turn back around, only to be startled into stillness by a light slap on his ass. 

“I said spread your legs,” Billy repeated. “And stay put. I’m just taking my briefs off, okay?”

So he stayed put, felt Billy’s weight leave the bed, felt the residual sting on his ass, and holy _fuck_ that had been hot. He’d liked it, liked getting spanked. He rutted against the bed, biting at one of the pillows to muffle his groan. 

The bed dipped as Billy returned. “Look at you. So needy,” Billy said. “Can hardly wait for it.”

But. But there was something off, in Billy’s voice. Had it shaken, a little? Had it been a little too breathless? 

He was hypersensitive to the cool air on his balls, to his position on his stomach, and he kept expecting the heavy weight of Billy’s cock, sliding along his ass, kept clenching and releasing his inner muscles, wondering what it would feel like to have Billy inside of him. 

But the touch, when it came, was only Billy’s hand on his spine. Billy rubbed his hand up and down, like Steve really was a cat that he was petting. Which would have been nice in any other circumstance, but he didn’t want slow, didn’t want careful. That gave him too much fucking time to think, and he didn’t want to think. Just wanted to be here, now, full of Billy, let Billy have all of him, feel wanted. Yes. Feeling wanted again before it was over. He needed that. Needed it. 

But. But Billy reached for the lube, and then he fumbled and dropped it. And Steve looked up at him, and Billy didn’t look turned on, didn’t look happy. And—Steve’s eyes dropped down—Billy wasn’t hard.

Billy saw him look. And he flushed red. 

“Billy,” Steve began, uncertain, confused. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy snapped, hands squeezing into fists. 

The harsh words brought him out of his daze, and Steve was conscious, suddenly, of how he’d been behaving like a… like a slut. Humiliation shivered over him. “I thought….” He stopped. He’d thought Billy wanted him. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Billy said. “You’re so—so—” His mouth trembled, and Steve realized with a shock that Billy was about to cry.

“Billy,” he said again, reaching out, but Billy swatted his hand away and scrambled off the bed. He walked over to where he’d hung his jacket and took his cigarettes out of the pocket. Lit one and stood there smoking, disregarding his nakedness, his back to Steve. 

Steve swallowed, hesitated, and then swung his legs off the bed. He stood up slowly and approached Billy.

“Stop,” Billy told him in a raw voice when Steve was a few steps away. “Please.”

Steve stopped. It was cold in the room, and his skin prickled with goosebumps. The arousal had dissipated, leaving him numb and hollow. He felt silly, standing there naked, shifting from one foot to the other. “Billy, it’s okay,” he tried yet again. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but—”

“Leave me alone for five fucking minutes, okay? Can you do that? Otherwise I’m going to punch the wall or you, and I _don’t want to_. I don’t want to be like my fucking dad!” Billy shouted the last, his voice breaking. 

And Steve didn’t understand, didn’t understand what mistake he’d made or why Billy had become so upset, but he could do that, he could give Billy space if that’s what he needed. So he went back to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. He pulled the sheet over his legs, and he put on Billy’s t-shirt because he was cold, and his own was lying too close to where Billy was standing. 

It was silent. A horrible silence. Like the end had come. Boom. Done. But he wasn’t ready. It was too early, not fair, not _fair_. He picked at the hem of the sheet, worrying at the tiny threads. 

Billy finished his cigarette. He went to his duffel, pulled out a pair of shorts, and slipped them on. Then he came over to the bed and sat next to Steve, leaving a space between them. Billy leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees, and his necklace swung in the air, side to side. Steve tugged on a thread in the sheet, picked at the stitches. 

“Baby.” Billy put his hand over Steve’s, stopped the nervous movements. 

“I thought… I thought you would _want_ to,” Steve whispered. 

Billy swallowed a couple times, took a breath, his fingers flexing against Steve’s. When he spoke, his voice was strained, like it was hard to force out the words. “I’ve never been with a guy before. Girls, yeah. But not a boy. Not until you.”

Steve absorbed this, tried to reconcile it with the self-confidence Billy usually oozed from every pore. “But the other morning—you were all over me. I mean, you sucked me off.”

“Yeah.” Billy pulled his hand away so he could run both of them through his hair, sighing. “I don’t know why it was different tonight. You were just in my lap, all of a sudden, and naked, and telling me to fuck you. Every gay guy’s dream, right? And I just—fucking freaked out.” He laughed, bitter. 

And maybe that right there was the difference. Billy hadn’t been in control this time, and it had scared him. And in the cold, clear aftermath, Steve could admit that he hadn’t really been in the right headspace either. Might have freaked out too if it had gone on to the conclusion where he actually got fucked. He squirmed a little, embarrassed, and then forced it away, because Billy was hurting. Billy needed him. 

“I’m sorry for pushing.” Steve inched a little closer, holding his breath, but Billy didn’t move away, and he let Steve put an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay that you didn’t want to.”

“I _do_ ,” Billy protested. “I do.”

“But not tonight, right? Not now.” 

“Not now,” Billy admitted, and a few seconds later his shoulders heaved on a quiet sob. 

“Okay. You’re okay, Billy. Come on, come here.” He coaxed Billy to lie on the bed with him, tucked Billy’s head against his chest so he could hold him and rub his back. 

Billy didn’t cry for too long, gulping back his tears, fighting them. But he didn’t try to pull away, either. After a while, he said quietly, “My dad would call me a faggot. When he hit me.”

It hurt to hear, like a bruise on Steve’s heart. “You don’t have to see him ever again.” 

“But he fucked me up. I was… I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn’t.” He kissed the top of Billy’s head, tried to lighten the mood a little by saying, “Have to admit it was a blow to the old ego, though, thinking you didn’t want me.” And it was a joke, but also not one, not really. 

Billy must have picked up on that in his voice, because he sniffed and raised his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “Wasn’t ‘cause I didn’t want you.” He sniffed again and then reached out to smooth a thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. “You’re my pretty boy. ‘Course I want you.” 

And yeah—that could satisfy him too. This, right here, offering comfort, holding Billy, feeling that tender ache like a bruise in his chest. For a second, the fierce desire to love Billy swept over him. 

But that couldn’t be. Well, it could, but it was better not to let that happen. He’d offered his love to enough people in the past to know that there was a high probability it would ultimately be rejected. He always ended up as a disappointment, nice enough at first but not nice enough to keep. Better that Billy remember him like this, as a source of affection and tenderness, as the first boy he got to kiss and hold and flirt with. 

That was a good ending. Better than the alternative. A bittersweet note on which to say goodbye, but Steve would have the memories, untainted. The memories of here, now, of being safe and wanted. 

Yeah, he could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I initially planned this chapter, it was going to end with some smutty, albeit bittersweet sex, both of them on board and having a lovely first-time together. And then I got into it and realized, nope, they aren't there yet, and it is still allllll about the angst.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that I updated the chapter count due to a small epilogue after this one

The sound of the hairdryer woke Billy. He’d never slept later than Steve, and he’d enjoyed waking first, these last few mornings, drowsy and warm, and finding Steve beside him. But this morning, he was glad to be alone. The memories of last night were all too sharp still. It had been so embarrassing, made worse by the fact that he hadn’t understood why he was so upset. He’d thought about fucking Steve, wanted to do it, but when presented with the actual opportunity, he’d completely panicked. That Steve had been so kind about it helped only slightly. 

Billy pressed his face into the pillow. Was that going to happen to him every time he tried to be with a guy? Why had he been able to fuck girls without a problem beyond the undercurrent of obligation and disinterest? 

The hairdryer stopped, and he rolled over, nerves spiking. Steve came out of the bathroom a moment later, dressed, his hair styled. He paused when he saw that Billy was awake. 

“Morning,” Steve said, and he smiled, sweet. 

“Hey.” Billy cleared his throat. “You’re up early.”

Steve nodded and went over to his backpack to stick his hairspray inside. “Figured you’d want to get on the road. We’re almost to that ocean of yours, after all.”

His ocean. Excitement thrummed along with the nerves and remnants of embarrassment. 

“You doing okay?” Steve asked quietly, and when Billy nodded, he smiled again. “Great. I’ll go find us some coffee while you get ready.”

The relief was immense. Steve wasn’t going to make him talk about what happened the night before. He waited until Steve had left before getting out of bed, though, still somewhat self-conscious. By the time he had showered, dressed, and done his hair, he felt better. Decided that last night had been an aberration. Decided not to think about it. Not on the day he was finally getting back to California.

Steve returned with coffee and bagels just as Billy was loading their stuff in the trunk. They leaned against the hood, eating, not saying much. But Steve seemed all right too, tapping his foot in the way that Billy thought meant he was content, not anxious, and making an occasional funny comment about the other guests loading luggage and departing. 

And then they were on the road, and it wasn’t far, not far at all until he saw the big sign on the highway: “Welcome to California.” He slammed his foot on the accelerator, the Camaro leaping forward, and let out a whoop as they zoomed past the sign. Home. He was home again. 

Steve laughed at him, but it was an affectionate, fond laugh that Billy didn’t mind. 

“We’re headed for San Diego, right?” Steve said after a minute. “That’s the end of the road?”

The end of the road. His elation cooled slightly. “Yeah. It’s where I’m from. I want to visit my old hangouts.” 

Steve nodded. He spun his coffee cup around in his hands. 

Billy reminded himself that he’d made his decision. There wasn’t any cause to be changing his mind now. “When we get there, I’ll introduce you to an old friend of mine. He runs a shop for tourists. I bet he can give you a temporary job.”

Steve was silent a minute. “I appreciate the offer,” he said at last. “Really. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, these past few days. But I think I’ll go to Los Angeles. I think there’d be more opportunities for me there, you know?”

So Steve wasn’t going to ask if he could stay with him. Well. Well, that was for the best. Showed they both knew this couldn’t continue. It was a relief, really. Otherwise he’d have to refuse, have to make Steve upset. As for there being more opportunities in Los Angeles, he didn’t know about that, but it was Steve’s decision. Billy’s original offer had been to get him to California. What Steve did after that was up to him.

“At least let me give you some money,” Billy said aloud. “To keep you going for a few days.”

“Okay,” Steve allowed, his voice quiet. “Thank you. And you can drop me off at a bus station. That’d be great.”

Billy took a breath, forced a smile on his face. “All in good time. I’m not that anxious to get rid of you, pretty boy. Gotta take you to the ocean first.”

It made Steve smile a little. “I have seen an ocean before, you know. But okay. I’d like that.”

There. It was settled. No tears or shouting, no fighting. Calm. Kind of a first for him, really, and maybe he should be celebrating his ability to be mature and rational as a sign that things were indeed going to be different now. That he was going to be better. It was only… well, he’d gotten used to having Steve there, that was all. 

*

The ocean, when they reached it, was the same—exactly the same as the day Billy left. He could hardly get out of the car fast enough, and then his feet were sinking into the sand, and the ocean-smell reached him. 

He had to go down to the water immediately, of course, leaving his boots and socks in a jumbled pile where they were soon joined by Steve’s pink high tops. Steve followed him as they walked through the soft, silky sand, warmed by the sun, and then the damp, firm sand at the water’s edge. A wave rolled toward them, breaking on the shore, the water surging onto the beach, swirling around their legs, always deeper than you expected, getting the bottoms of their rolled-up jeans wet. And when the water receded, there was always a part of Billy that wanted to pursue it, didn’t want to be left behind on the shore, wanted to sink his whole body into the water, not wait until the next wave foamed around his feet. Wanted to disappear in the immensity of it, the vast depths that existed on a scale apart from his own, small life. 

But he stayed on the beach, dug his toes into the wet sand. 

As it was a weekday, the beach wasn’t too busy—a few moms with their kids, some surfers, an elderly couple in sun chairs. 

“It’s still here,” Steve said next to him. “The ocean didn’t disappear on you while you were away.” And then he had to reach out and steady himself on Billy’s arm because they’d gotten too near the water, where the waves were stronger. 

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Billy said, leading them to a steadier spot. No, he’d been worried that he was the one who would disappear. That when he did get back to the ocean, there would be nothing left. Nothing but anger and pain and bruises. And there was a lot of that—he couldn’t deny it. But it wasn’t _everything_. Not everything. If it had been everything, Steve wouldn’t be here next to him, reaching out to catch himself on Billy when he was about to fall.

They meandered down the beach for a while, looking for shells and sea glass, then made their way back to their shoes and sat in the sand to let their legs and feet dry in the sun. 

In the back of his mind, Billy knew that it was almost time for them to part ways. But the sound of the waves, the happiness of being back at the ocean lulled him into contentment, made it easy to pretend that they could exist here, in this moment, forever. 

And then Steve reached into his pocket and handed Billy a rock. 

“I bought it at the Grand Canyon. As a thank you,” he explained, sounding embarrassed. “It reminded me of the ‘amazing rocks,’ you know. ‘Cause you liked them. Although seeing you here, I think maybe you’ll end up a marine biologist or something instead.” 

The rock was sparkly, purple and a very dark green color. It sat rough and heavy in his palm. Steve had bought it for him. A parting gift. 

“I mean, it was cheap. You can chuck it out there onto the beach if you don’t like it. Let some kid find it,” Steve continued, speaking faster, anxious.

Billy closed his fingers around it, felt the hard edges dig into his skin. “I’ll keep it.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” Steve smiled, kind of lopsided, and started brushing sand off his feet, started pulling on his socks. 

Time to go. He took a breath, squeezed his fist tighter around the rock, had to ask, “You ready to leave, then?”

“Yeah.” Steve tied the laces on his shoes, bounced up onto his feet. His voice was bright, but Billy couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses. “I’m ready.”

So he put on his boots, felt the reluctant sand clinging to them as he walked.

Back at the car, he put the rock in the cup-holder, put the key in the ignition. Sat there a second.

“Man, that sand really sticks to you,” Steve said, making a face. “I can feel it in my socks.”

_Should have known you’d whine about it, princess._

But the words stuck, wouldn’t come out. He started the car instead, backed out of the parking lot, turned left to return the way they’d come, to return to the bus station they’d passed on their way to the beach. Leaving the ocean for a moment—only a moment—knowing that when he came back, he would be alone.

*

The plastic chairs inside the bus station were cracking, and several of the fluorescent lights had burned out. Billy and Steve were standing midway between the entrance and the ticket counter, where you had a good view of the bus schedules posted above the counter. Steve had his backpack over one shoulder, his suitcase at his side. Billy was holding the shoeboxes held together with masking tape. He’d already given Steve the promised money back at the car, making sure Steve stowed it safely in his wallet. Now Steve was looking at the bus schedules, nose scrunched in concentration. 

“There’s a couple of buses that go into Los Angeles,” Steve announced. “Do you mind watching my stuff while I get the ticket?”

Billy shook his head, moving over to one of the blue plastic chairs and sitting down to wait. Steve went and stood in line, hands shoved in his pockets.

He’d meant to kiss Steve on the beach. But he’d forgotten, and he couldn’t do it here in the middle of a bus station. Well, it just meant that the night before had been the last kiss. There was always a last of everything, even if you didn’t realize it at the time. 

Steve returned with his ticket. “I guess this is it,” he said. He smiled, although it wavered a little, like the shadow of leaves on the sidewalk when the wind was blowing. 

“Guess so.” Billy set down the shoeboxes and stood. They faced each other. Steve ducked his head, gently kicked the side of his suitcase, and then looked up again. He held out his hand.

“Thanks again for everything, Billy.”

He looked at Steve’s smile, at his brown eyes, at his outstretched hand. But that wasn’t right. They didn’t _shake hands_. 

Steve’s eyes widened when Billy pulled him into a one-armed hug, holding him tightly for a few seconds. He felt Steve’s hand, warm against his shoulder. 

“You’ll be okay?” he asked when he released Steve and took a step back.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks to you.” Steve smiled again, smaller but more genuine. “I’m glad I met you, Billy.”

He cleared his throat, pulled his aviators out of his pocket. “You take care of yourself, pretty boy.”

“You, too.” 

They stood there a second longer, and then Steve moved to sit down in the chair Billy had vacated, unzipping his backpack to put away his ticket, organizing a few things.

“I’ll see you around, I guess,” Billy said, and Steve looked up, still smiling, even though they both knew that was a lie. How would they ever find each other again? No way to keep in touch, no promises to do so. 

But Steve said, “Sure, Billy,” and then Billy was walking away, turning around once to wave, and Steve waved back, and then he was out the door, on the sidewalk again, strangers passing by on either side. 

He’d parked the Camaro about a block and a half away, and as he headed for it, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. He took a drag, tilting his head back and watching the smoke stream into the air when he breathed out. So, here he was, in California, after a trip that hadn’t been quite what he’d expected. But the trip was over, gone in the rearview mirror. Time to look ahead to tomorrow.

A man passed him, knocking against his shoulder. “Watch where you’re going, asshole,” Billy said, but without heat, and the man didn’t turn around. Two teenage girls walked by in the opposite direction, giggling together, their permed hair bouncing with each step. A woman, pushing her baby in a stroller. Two construction workers. Then a young guy in sandals, hair bleached blond by the sun, tan, his brightly patterned shirt unbuttoned. Billy looked his fill, because he could do that now, but he didn’t try to get the guy to notice him. He’d save that for another day.

He reached the Camaro, unlocked the door and got inside. The rock Steve had given him was sitting there in the cup-holder. He picked it up, flipped it over in his fingers, thought about the red t-shirt packed in his duffel that said “World’s Biggest Ball of Twine.” 

Waited, a second or two, for someone to get into the passenger seat. 

But of course that didn’t happen. The seat would be empty for a while now. He dropped the rock, drowned the clatter against the plastic with the sound of the engine starting. Turned on the radio. Opened the window. Just like he said he would. 

He pulled out, drove past the bus station, drove away down the street. 

He’d been driving that day, too. The day they left California, when his dad moved them to Ohio. That day they left Billy’s home, where his mom had— 

Anyway, on that day, Billy had felt the bars of a cage closing in around him. The cage would be this nowhere hick town and a too-small house where he’d have to live with his dad, and his dad’s dumb new wife, and her bitchy daughter. In the winter, the leaden grey sky would weigh down on you and in summer, the humidity would suffocate the air, turning it close and hot. His dad would be watching him, too. Teaching him about respect and responsibility and enforcing the lessons with blood and bruises. 

And Billy had gone into that cage. He drove over the state line, drove all the way to fucking Ohio, and hauled his suitcase up the stairs into his new room. An animal cowed by the collar around its neck and the threat of pain. 

Billy slammed on the breaks. Made a hard turn into a McDonald’s parking lot. The car behind him honked, but Billy ignored it, pulled into a parking spot, stopped. His heart was pounding. 

Fuck this. _Fuck_ this. Rational? Mature? Calm? 

That was a fucking joke. When had he ever been any of those things? That wasn’t _him_. He knew what he was, though. What he’d always been. A fucking coward. 

He’d _left_ Steve. Just left him there in that shitty bus station with his sad, taped-together shoeboxes. 

He’d left him. The first boy he’d ever…. 

No—no, there wasn’t time to struggle over words like “love” and “desire.” No time for the tears stinging his eyes. He had to get back. Had to get back before Steve got on that bus, before he was gone from Billy’s life forever. 

He peeled out of the parking lot, almost hit a car turning back onto the street. And then he drove fast, reckless, swore as he hit a goddamned red light, and thank God, thank God there was an open parking space not far from the station, forget the meter, didn’t matter if he got a ticket. He ran down the sidewalk, slammed through the doors of the bus station, and stopped, chest heaving, terrified he was too late.

But no. Steve was still there, right where Billy had left him. He hadn’t noticed Billy yet—he was looking down at the floor, his shoulders slumped, and Billy had known— _known_ —that Steve had been putting on a front before, that he was dejected and anxious and trying desperately not to show it. 

He looked up at the sound of Billy’s footsteps, expression turning shocked as he realized who it was. “Billy? What’s wrong?” he asked, and then yelped as Billy fisted his hands in Steve’s jacket and hauled him to his feet. 

“You’re not leaving,” Billy said, and he gave Steve a little shake, some of his fear ebbing as he met Steve’s confused, sweet brown eyes. “Get your shit, give me those goddamned boxes, and come with me.”

“Wh-what?” Steve stuttered.

“Are you deaf? I said we’re going. You’re coming with me.”

“But, but—my bus,” Steve protested weakly. “I already bought my ticket. And you said goodbye to me, like, not even thirty minutes ago.”

And fuck, he was going to have to say it, here in the middle of the bus station. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he gritted out. “I never wanted you to go.”

Steve sucked in a breath. Slowly, his hands came up to cover Billy’s. He searched Billy’s face. “You mean that?”

He could only nod, could only tug Steve into a rough hug and whisper, “Don’t leave me, baby. Please.”

A long minute passed. Over the loudspeaker came the call for the three-thirty bus to Los Angeles. Steve tensed. Billy held his breath, squeezed Steve tighter. 

Another minute passed. Another. And then hands touched his hair, Steve’s breath gusted across his cheek. “I’ll stay,” Steve murmured, and his breathing hitched. “I really wanted to stay with you, Billy. But—”

“But what?” he demanded, raising his head, relief making him dizzy. Steve was looking down, biting his lip. “What is it, baby?” 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Steve whispered, sounding miserable. “Nobody’s ever wanted to stay with me. If you ever—I don’t know if I could stand it.”

Billy sighed, still kind of shaky, and guided Steve to sit in one of the awful plastic chairs. He sat next to him, and he took Steve’s hand in his own, gave the room a glare. If anyone gave them shit, called them names, he would break their fucking _jaw_. Then he returned his attention to his pretty boy, his beautiful, heart-broken baby. 

“I’m scared too,” he told Steve. “I was so scared I let myself walk out of here, almost left you for good. But that was the worst—I couldn’t stand _that_. Can you?”

And Steve shook his head, scrubbed at the tears on his face. He squeezed Billy’s hand, then scrabbled blindly for his backpack. “Let’s go. Take me somewhere I can fucking kiss you, okay?” And then he laughed, happy, so happy, and gave Billy a real, true smile. 

The ocean made him feel insignificant, immaterial, free. But Steve’s smile made him feel like he mattered. Having both of them? He couldn’t imagine anything better.


	8. Epilogue

He timed the phone call for when he knew his mom would be home, but not his dad. She answered on the third ring. 

“Hey, mom. It’s me,” Steve said.

“ _Steven_ ,” she gasped. “What have you been _doing_? You haven’t called in over three weeks. I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“Sorry.” He stuck a finger through the curl of the phone cord, started twisting it around. “I, um, ended up going on a trip. I’m out in California now.”

“California? But Steven, I thought you had a job in Indianapolis.”

“That, uh, wasn’t working out so good. I decided to try a fresh start.”

His mother huffed. “I don’t know, dear. I don’t think your father will like that much. He was just saying last night that maybe it would be best if you came home. That he’d been too hasty, saying what he did. And you know he’s been so stressed about work, lately. You understand, don’t you? If you come home, we can help find you something suitable.”

Steve sighed. He released the phone cord and rubbed his finger along the sofa cushion he was sitting on instead. It was a weird orange color, which he didn’t like, but it had been the only one on offer at the thrift store. “I’m going to find a job here.”

“I’m not saying you couldn’t, dear,” his mother said delicately, “but your father has connections. And his friends would understand, you know, that you were having some… problems in high school. It wouldn’t matter about your grades.” 

“Mom. _No_.” He made himself take a deep breath, looked over to the tiny kitchen where Billy was frying bacon at the stove. “I don’t want dad’s help. Not after what he said to me.”

“But he’s sorry, honey. And if you would only come home, I’m sure you can talk it out with him.”

“I kind of doubt it. Mom, I met someone. A guy. We’re living together now. Found an apartment and everything.”

Dead silence for a few seconds, then his mother’s voice, teary, horrified. “Oh, Steven. How could you?”

Billy was shirtless. Of course. When he turned to grab a plate, Steve could see the mark he’d sucked onto Billy’s collarbone last night while lying in bed. Their bed currently consisted of a mattress on the floor in the bedroom because they couldn’t afford a bed frame yet. They still hadn’t fucked, and Steve had a sort of panic attack when he tried to give Billy a blowjob, so that was off the table too for the time being. But it was okay, more than okay, when Billy kissed him and held him and called him those silly names that Steve might kind of actually enjoy. 

How could he? “Because I’m in love with him,” he told her, gentle because he knew she didn’t mean to hurt him. 

She started saying something about how he couldn’t be serious, how he was ruining his life, but Steve cut her off. “I’ll send you a postcard, with my new address and our phone number. You don’t have to tell dad. But… I’d like it, if you called or wrote. I love you, mom.” 

“Oh, _Steven_ ,” she sobbed, and then the call cut off into a dial tone. 

He hung up the phone and went over to Billy. Stood next to him and poured some orange juice into a glass. 

“I’m guessing it didn’t go that great, judging by your expression,” Billy said. 

“I didn’t think it would. But. Well, it would have been nice. She’s still my mom, you know?” 

“Yeah, I know. _He’s_ still my fucking dad.” Billy slid the bacon onto a plate, added some toast, and took it over to the table. 

They sat down, and Steve took a piece of bacon, spread some jam on his toast, and told himself that he wasn’t going to cry. 

Billy kicked his chair to get his attention. “Good bacon, right? Know what else would have been good for breakfast? Eggs.”

Eggs. Steve looked at the table. There was, indeed, a distinct lack of eggs. Oh. _Oh_. “I forgot to pick them up last night,” he mumbled, flushing. 

“No shit.” Billy kicked his chair again. “I’ll get some at the store later.”

Steve hummed, reached over to pluck the last piece of bacon off Billy’s plate, because he knew Billy would let him.

Billy did let him. Watched Steve eat it while he drank his coffee. “How’d you survive without me, baby?” Billy mocked, his blue eyes sharp in the morning sunlight. 

“Don’t know. But I found you.” Steve smiled, pushing away the sadness. “Well, you found me. So I’m okay now.”

Billy huffed, shook his head, his eyes softening into something fonder, gentler. “You know how to play ‘em, don’t you, pretty boy? But you got it wrong. Should have said that _we’re_ okay now.”

It wasn’t completely true. They weren’t quite okay, not yet. But together? Together they had a pretty good chance of getting there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who came along with me for this angsty ride! I had a great time writing it--I guess a road trip fic where I could let loose on angst and pet names was perfect for sheltering in place during a pandemic. I'm not quite sure where this fic came from--as I mentioned, I'd never even watched the show--but it's the longest thing I've written in several years and thankfully, the muse did not desert me midway through. Again, thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos. They kept me motivated. :)


End file.
